Chances
by C. Selene Belle
Summary: Sam has come home and everything seems like a dream, until a madman resurfaces from Sam Becket's past.
1. Chapter One

**A/N: Age really shouldn't matter, but for those of you who don't know – this was written when I was 13 – 15 years old. With a little help in the form of advice and dialog suggestions, but help nonetheless. It needed to be reformatted, for those of you who may have been interested in reading the odd musings of an adolescent young writer n00b.**

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**Chapter One**

Stallion's Gate, New Mexico  
Sunday, September 3, 2000, 7:02 a.m.

When Sam regained consciousness, he found himself laying in a hospital bed. It was in the corner of a blue room, he observed. The blue walls were definitely out of the ordinary, dimly glowing with an

eerie hue. There also seemed to be an invisible energy humming within them, giving an almost magical feeling to the human soul. The floor was covered with black linoleum that had been cleaned and recently polished, giving anyone who walked on it the breathtaking feeling of floating on thin air.

Sam stood up and wandered around the room. It felt somewhat familiar to him. But he didn't know where the feeling of familiarity was coming from. Suddenly a door that Sam hadn't noticed, slid open to reveal a beautiful woman. She had thick curly brown hair. Sam stared at her, hypnotized by her beauty, and noticed clusters of smiling people behind the door.

The woman ran up to him and threw her slender arms around his neck. "Sam, I've missed you so much!" She said on the verge of tears.

With the simplest touch, Sam instantly remembered. "Donna?"

Most of the Project was constructed beneath the crusty desert floor. Three out of the ten levels were above ground and took up part of a mountainside. Each level was a maze of sterilized metallic hallways, almost tube-like pentagons. Though after spending five years there, one gets used to it and is able to find their way through the futuristic labyrinth easily.

The whole Project was controlled by Ziggy, the egotistical hybrid computer that Dr. Sam Beckett created with Al's and his own DNA, enabling them to be holographically linked by their brain wave patterns. Ziggy is the most advanced computer in the world and it was a pleasure for Dr. G.F. Crosnolf, the head programmer whom everyone simply called Gooshie, to program her.

All the project's living quarters were on the two top most levels, above ground. The majority of each apartment was carved into the mountainside but each has a sliding glass door leading to a balcony that was open to the outside desert air. The quarters that most of the project's general staff occupied were on the lower deck. Storage rooms, ventilation, and elevator shafts took up the core area of both living quarter levels. On the upper level were quarters that accommodated senior staff; Gooshie, the head programmer. His wife, pulse communication technician Dr. Tina Martinez-O'Farell-Crosnolf. Project observer/Administrator Admiral Al Calavicci and so on. Dr. Sam Beckett once lived on the same level too, but his absence never meant the end of him to his wife, Dr. Donna Elesee-Beckett. She knew he would come home some day and always saved a place for him when the time came. So now she lived alone in the apartment across from Al.

It has been three days since Sam leaped out of his last assignment. Since then, everyone at the Project has been enjoying their respite. Especially Al. His job was the hardest of all and he wonders, sometimes, why it had to be him. Experience maybe? That could be true. During the more chaotic Leaps, his adrenaline starts pumping and he gets very little, or no sleep at all. Being a 60-year-old

admiral still in the Navy has that effect on a person. He always keeps his cool and stays in control; unless it has something to do with the Bermuda Triangle or anything else beyond human understanding. Then his superstitions get the best of him . . .

But right now there was absolutely nothing to do.

No worries.

No hassles.

Nada.

Zero.

Zip.

Zilch.

The sunlight was streaming brightly through Al's bedroom window, the morning rays casting shadows at odd angles in the room. He lay peacefully in his disheveled bed, wearing his most conformable red silk pajamas and hoping the peace would last. He dreamed about his life before it became a nightmare. He always had fun with Sam. They always played basketball outside by the garage, gave each other high-fives without passing straight through each other.

Those "fun" days were over. It ended the very same moment Sam stepped into the Accelerator. Without Sam, Al almost had nothing to live for . . . except for keeping Sam's ass off the line. Though he had been married five times, he had never had any children, let alone a family. Sam was as close to a family as he was ever going to get. No

cared about him as much as Sam did and he hoped he would come home soon. He always hoped yet it never happened.

Al, being projected as a hologram that only Sam can see and hear, always felt frustrated when his best friend was at desperate straits. All Al was able to do was stand to the side and yell unheard words at Sam's harassers.

He was still asleep, thinking, wondering, hoping . . . when the hybrid hunk of junk interrupted the calm. "Good morning, Admiral Calavicci!" She sound much to cheering for a computer.

Al pretended to ignore her and kept his eyes closed as he said, "Five more minutes, mommy."

"Very droll, Admiral." Ziggy responded to the joke.

Al surrendered to the inevitable. He slowly sat up and yawned, "Can't I ever make a girl laugh?"

Ziggy answered as if she were grinning. "Not this one."

Al sighed knowing that now was the time for business. As he rubbed his eyes he said, "Okay, Ziggy. What's the scoop?"

He got out of bed to prepare for another day when Ziggy announced, "Dr. Beeks said to report to the Waiting Room at once." As he rummaged through his closet for a suitable ensemble, Al rolled his eyes. "So what's new?"

The computer's "grinning tone" returned. "Only the fact that there are over 78 staff gathering in the Waiting Room . . . greeting their newly arrived Project Director." Ill with anticipation, Al almost dropped the Armani suit he just pulled out. He had to be dreaming but . . . he felt awake. Ziggy continued, "He anxiously awaits your arrival."

Trembling hands passed through his curly black hair. "Sam? . . . He's . . .," He cracked a smile, "He's home?" It sounded almost impossible to believe. "You're kidding, right?"

"I never kid, Admiral." Ziggy replied with a hint of annoyance. The dream that both men prayed would come true finally had.

Deciding there was no time to postpone his arrival any longer, Al immediately sprinted out of his room still dressed in his night clothes. Though he did manage to keep at least some decency by quickly thrown on a robe and forcing on a pair of slippers. He ran all the way to the Waiting Room. While he stood in front of the metallic door, he was almost afraid of what he might find on the other side; trying to decide if it would really be Sam or someone was playing a sick joke. Denying his doubt, he lifted his hand and rested it on the palm-scanner. There was the sound of a machine's gasp, like a small piston gasket. Then the loud hum of the door sliding up much to slowly for Al's eyes.

Five years. Five years? Has it really been five years of waiting? Of constantly going through painful situations? Of too many close calls? Of almost losing his buddy? The door was open now, the door to renew his friendship . . . his only family. But he couldn't see the happy sight everyone else saw. He stood on his tip-toes but could barely the center of the room.

He began elbowing his way through the immense crowd. " 'scuse me . . . pardon." After pushing, shoving and practically swimming through the multitude, he reached his destination. The sight that greeted his eyes was far too fantastic to be real. As he saw Sam embraced in the arms of his crying wife, his own emotions were unleashed to quickly. His dark, chocolate brown eyes grew soft and moist.

The reunited Becketts pulled out of their embrace, wiping away tears of joy. Al just stood there, speechless. Donna noticed he was there now. "It's your turn to say hello, Al." She stated with a gentle smile. The name caught Sam. He turned around and focused on Al through the glaze in his eyes. He didn't even know he was there.

"Al?" He asked. He went over and stopped right in front of him. He tested his imagination by first lifting a hand to Al's shoulder. Al simply laughed through threatening tears.

"Are you just gonna stand there?" Al asked humorously. He held out his arms with a big smile. "Come here, you goof." It didn't take long until the eccentric Italian held Sam in his arms, hugging him for all he was worth. Now they cried. "Welcome home, Sam." Al choked.

"Thanks, Little Buddy." Sam responded in the same tone. When they finally pulled out of their bear hug, Sam noticed something unusual about his friend. "Al, you're crying."

Al joked, "No, I'm just trying to see rainbows." They laughed. Then the physicist noticed another familiar person. She was tall, slender, attractive and the Project Psychiatrist, Dr. Verbena Beeks.

Sam smiled. "Hey, Verbena!" She approached the two friends, smiling back.

"We're all glad you back." She declared.

Sam hugged her and said, "Thanks."

Donna joined the group, putting her arm around Sam and whispering tentatively in his ear, "I've got a surprise for you back in our room, daddy." Despite her obvious clue, Sam didn't get it. Al smiled broadly, knowing full well what this surprise was. Sam looked in Al's direction with a confused expression asking what it was.

As if he read Sam's thoughts, Al answered, "Find out for yourself. You're not gonna sucker me into telling you."

Sam just laughed at the coincidence. "How did you know?"

"I heard somewhere that when your good buddies with someone, you can read their face like a children's book."

"I think I agree with that." Sam laughed.

By now, everyone began to depart, one by one, from the waiting room with a smiling face and a clear conscious. With an arm around his wife's waist, Sam and Donna followed Al out of the Waiting Room together, side by side.

The whole day had been spent all in good fun; talking, laughing, hugging, catching up on past times, retelling memorable stories . . . and meeting new people who had just entered the world. Later that evening, Al had made reservations at the local

Italian night club called La Dolce Vita (The Sweet Life) and invited the entire senior staff. Dressed in cocktail dresses and suits, they all drove out to Santa Fe, ready for a night on the town. The night

club wasn't hard to find, especially with the neon sign flashing wildly in a different assortment of colors and shapes. Then there was the loud techno-music pumping all the way outside. It's the strangest

combination of nationalities I'd ever seen, Sam thought once they got inside. But then again, so was Al.

"I know what you're thinking," Al yelled over the volume of the music, "It's probably the weirdest thing you've ever seen, right?"

"Stop that!" Sam yelled back with a smile. Donna was at his side in a short and delicate teal dress. She giggled at what she heard from the two.

"I knew it!" Al exclaimed. He smiled and gave Sam a friendly slap on the back before going up to a hostess at the front desk.

"Reservations for Calavicci." He stated to the brunette. She glanced down at a clipboard and pad.

"Right. How many in your party?"

He stated with a mischievous smile, "Miss, we are the party."

"Oh, so you're the one with the special reservations. No wonder it didn't say how many. Right this way, sir." As she led him, everyone else on the staff followed him. They were led to the main

area of the whole joint which was in front of the dance floor.

Al took a seat at the head of the long main table. Sam pulled out Donna's chair so that she can sit, then he sat next to his friend and his wife. People were filling up the main area now. Some immediately went to dance. Verbena came in and took a seat next to Donna.

"So, how's Don Quixote and Sancho getting along?" They both looked towards the two men who were deep in conversation.

"Great." She smiled at them. "They deserve a vacation."

"We all do. I wonder what are they talking about?" Verbena asked, noticing the sudden outburst of laughter coming from the other end of the table.

"Are you serious?" Sam laughed.

"Of course I am. Would I lie?" Al asked, grinning.

"Naw." Sam said sarcastically.

"Yeah, well. You're still a choir boy."

"And you're still a jet jock, Bingo." Sam emphasized his friend's nickname. He curiously looked around the party palace then looked at Al with the same look of curiosity.

Al couldn't help but notice 'The Look'. "What?" He asked innocently.

"You're actually paying for this?"

"Sure . . . with a little help from your bank account." He said with a smile.

Sam's voice went up an octave when he shrieked, What!?"

"Just kidding!" The immediate words that came from Al and thesmile on his face made Sam relax a bit. He should have known it was a joke. That's what Als do best! "Do me a favor and don't worry about who's paying. Would I really be that senseless?"

Sam mockingly took a moment to think. "Well . . ."

"Yeah, yeah. Quick! Go dunk your head! Your brain's overheating!"

Grinning, Sam waved a fist in the air, "Why, I oughta . . ."

Then he shook his head to himself, thinking, "Still the same ol' Al."

He had to admit that he loved him, no matter what happened. Through good times and bad they would never lose their friendship. It had grown too strong. Now that it was one of the good times, though, he might as well enjoy. "I think we should order before they start driving us up the wall asking if we want to eat or not."

"I think you're right." He picked up a red leather menu that was pre-placed in front of him and scanned down the choices. Sam was having a bit of trouble choosing. That's what happens when you don't understand anything related to Italy . . . including Al.

Sam read the meals silently, "Let's see. Fettuccine, pasta primavera, linguine alfredo, gnocchi . . .?" He asked Al, "What's . . .," He checked the name again, "ga-no-ki?"

"Ganoki?"

"Number eleven."

Al looked around the menu. "That's not ganoki, Sam. That's gnocchi." The Look came back and told Al that what he said needed an explanation. Leaning forward, he emphasized the name of the dish, "Ni-o-ki."

"Well, what is it like. Fettuccine, linguine, spaghetti . . . ?"

"Neither one. It's a lot like shells and cheese only it's made with potatoes and flour and topped with tomato sauce instead of the cheese. Actually, I think you'd like it."

"It's sounds good." Sam said, a little unsure of himself. He turned to his wife who was having a pleasant conversation with Verbena. "Hey, Donna." He interrupted, "I was talking to Al . . ."

"So I saw." She said with a smile.

". . . and he told me about this pasta we would like. I was wondering if you want to share a plate with me."

Leaning forward, she looked deep into his hazel eyes and purred in his ear, "That's not all I want to share." Sam didn't give himself time to think and he went in for the kill. They had never felt more passion in one kiss, but they knew the kisses would get better as the years go by.

After an exhausting evening at La Dolce Vita, a restaurant which definitely pertained to it's name, everyone gladly headed back to the Project (Not all at once, of course. If that happened it would have been havoc for the highway patrol.) Some people got tired earlier than others and when they did, they left. Sam and Donna stayed there all night, though. So did Verbena and Al. They absolutely could not hide the fact that they were having a great time. During dinner, Al had mentioned humorously that it was all a "little family outing."

One detail Sam made sure of was that Al was limited to exactly one glass of wine, to make sure he kept up his commitment to the promise made way back when. "Sam," Al had said, slightly annoyed, "Stop worrying. I'm a big boy now. And I've been sober for fifteen years." Al might have been annoyed by Sam's worry, but Sam remembered

all too well the anger he saw in the man's eyes the night they met. Anger and desperation for someone to care. When someone finally had, he didn't know how to react. Back then, anger was the only solution. Now he's known Sam Beckett long enough to figure him out . . . almost. Though he didn't show it, Al understood his friend's concern and subconsciously thanked him for it. Sam knew how out of hand Al can get and one time, Al even admitted to some of the crazy stunts he'd pulled. Even though those night crusades were now a far memory, anything was possible.

Walking down the familiar sterile halls, Verbena said goodnight to the trio and wandered off to her living quarters with her head swimming with exhaustion. The remaining three walked slowly down the hall to their homes. Donna held Sam around his middle with a husband's protective arm around her shoulders in return. Al had his hands in his pockets, head hanging and feet dragging. He looked ashamed but he felt more like the odd one out. His tie was lazily undone as for the two top buttons of his shirt. Nonetheless, he followed his friends down the infinite halls.

"Al, are you okay?" Donna asked. She had noticed how quiet he had been in the passed few moments. Al looked up, a little unprepared for the question, and gave her a wry grin.

"I'm fine." He lied convincingly . . . for Donna. Sam knew better but didn't say he knew.

"Donna," Sam started, "Why don't you go on ahead of me. I'll be there in a minute." He had a feeling Donna knew what was up his sleeve so she didn't even try to protest.

"All right. I'll be waiting." Donna purred to her spouse. She touched Al's arm slightly. "Goodnight, Al."

"G'night, Donna." It sounded more miserable than it's intention to be pleasant. Sam caught it but said nothing until he was sure that his wife was in their bedroom. Sam turned to his friend.

"Al, what's wrong?" He asked.

Al waved off any accusation. "Nothing. It's stupid."

"No, it's not. If there's something bothering you, you can tell me." Al sighed and leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I don't know, Sam. It's just that I see you and Donna together again and . . ." That was all that needed to be said for Sam.

"You've been thinking about Beth all this time, haven't you?"

Al gave him the "how did you know?" look and he didn't have to say anything.

Sam automatically continued, "Sometimes," his eyebrows lifted with his grin, "when you're good buddies with someone, you can read them like a children's book." He walked over to his buddy and

leaned against the wall beside him. Al grinned back and shook his head.

"This is getting too weird." Al stated.

"I think it's perfectly normal."

"Yeah, well . . ." It was his usual cut off line. But he forgot that Sam was the only person who didn't think of it that way.

"'Yeah, well' what?"

Turning away from the kid, Al moaned out, "Aw, Sam. I miss her." Sam walked away from the wall to where his partner stood.

Resting his hand on the Admiral's shoulder, Sam said, "I know you do."

Al wheeled around on his heel to face the physicist. "Do you? Do you know what it feels like to be all alone in this stinking world?" The words weren't spoken with vehemence as one would expect, but with a tone of truth. "I see how happy you and Donna are and I realize that I've forgotten what it's like to have a family. I lost everyone."

Sam's eyes were kind and understanding as he looked at the shorter man. "Not everyone. I'm still here. Donna'll always be here. And you have to remember that you're Uncle Al now. Little Jonathan Albert needs a guy like you to grow up with. You can teach him things that I'll never be able to." Jonathan Albert Beckett was the surprise earlier that day. The baby was dutifully named after Sam's deceased father and his gratefully still living best friend. The first time Sam held the infant in his arms was the greatest gift. He was a father. And he'll never leave his family again, he vowed.

Avoiding the mush, Al asked, "Oh, yeah. How is the little squirt?"

Sam's eyes glittered. "An adorable nine pound, four ounce bouncing baby boy."

Playfully disgusted, Al muttered, "That's a Beckett all right."

Sam grinned. "Pretty soon, the Terrible Twos will strike and while Donna and I are happily on our anniversary, Johnny will be terrorizing Uncle Al for the whole weekend!"

Al didn't share his enthusiasm. He turned around again to face the wall. "Great. So I get stuck with the kid." Sam's grin was wiped right off his face and he began to shake his head.

"No, no. That's not what I meant." But it was no use. Al was genuinely upset. Sam could tell because of they way he shoved his hands back into his pockets. "Al," He began carefully, "I know it's not easy but I can't say I know how you feel. All the bad things that's happened in your life hurt me too. Not in the same way but I feel your pain."

"You're probably feeling the after effects from that Simo-Leap that happened last year." Al suggested bitterly.

Resting both hands on his friend's shoulders, Sam shook his head in disagreement. "No, it's more than that. You may have forgotten what it's like to have a family but you're not forgotten. To me, you're part of my family. I'm sure Donna thinks so too."

Al turned back again. "You really mean that?"

"Of course, I do. I mean, Donna loves you. Mom loves you, Katie thinks you're the best, I . . . Aw, hell, Al." The bear hug that came after his words told Al that Sam was telling the truth about what he had said. The hug Al gave him that morning was a "Welcome Home" hug. This was similar except it said "Welcome to the family".

For Al, life as an orphan was definitely tough. No one loved him. No one adopted him because they loved him. No one adopted him because they didn't. Al knew love as lasting at the most, two years. In any way, shape or form in came in, it was love. But it always ended. Mom ran away, Dad died, Trudy was gone too, Chip died, Beth remarried, his other four ex-wives cared more about alimony then if he died or not. Children would have been nice but now Sam was all he had. "I think you're the greatest."

Al whispered out, "Io ti voglio bene."

Sam pulled back with a smile on his face. "What the heck doesthat mean? You know I don't speak . . ."

Al was still quite serious. "It means I'm fond of you, kid."

They began walking toward the end of the hall where their living quarters were located; Al on the left and Sam on the right.

He still had the smile when he said, "Yeah, well, you're not too bad yourself. And if you get any shorter, Calavicci, we're gonna have to start feeding you some kind of extra growth miracle pill."

"Beckett, I knew you were going to say that." They stopped in front of their doors and with kind eyes, Al said, "Go home to your beautiful wife. I'll see you in the morning."

Sam nodded, "Okay. Goodnight, Al."

"'Night, Sam." And they simultaneously entered their rooms.

When Sam opened the door to his quarters, he instantly heard lovely music that had just started playing. The song being played was called "Falling in Love" by La Bouche. It was played in a low enticing

tone that made Sam grin as he followed it down the hall to the bedroom he shared with his wife.

He slowly opened the door and found Donna facing the other end of the room. She was dressed in a long night gown and a white silk robe. He didn't see her smile when she him enter. Sam came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She lay her head upon his shoulder.

Without opening her eyes, Donna whispered seductively, "Hi."

It been a long time since the last time she was able to say that word in the same tone she used it tonight. But Sam was home now. Back in his own time. She wouldn't be up during long nights anymore, wondering if her husband was dead or alive. She secretly vowed to never let him out of her sight again.

There was a lot to talk about; the Project, their new life and son. But the talking can wait until later, Donna decided. As Sam began to sway to the music and kissed Donna's neck tenderly, she forgot

about the rest of the world. She turned around within the circle of his arms and wrapped her arms loosely around his neck. They were still moving to the slow beat and Sam didn't let the moment pass, kissing his wife's lushes lips, tasting their sweetness.

"I've missed you." Donna breathed. In answer, Sam buried his face in her long hair, savoring her exotic perfume and femininity.

The music paused briefly to change songs. "I Finally Found Someone" began to play from the soundtrack to "The Mirror Has Two Faces", wonderfully sung by Brian Adams and Barbara Streisand.

But Sam failed to recall the song title, movie or artists. Instead, he thought about Donna and wondered, how on earth did I ever get so lucky? Then he said outloud to the beautiful creature in his arms, "Let's make a night to remember."


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

**Washington DC  
Monday, September 4, 2000**

Five a.m. struck loudly on Senator Charles Harrison's ancient clock radio, beckoning him awake. He moaned, his intentions more set on going back to sleep, but reluctantly pushed his tired body out of bed. Feet dragging on the floor, he went to the bathroom and familiarly passed his hand over the smooth glowing surface of the light sensor pad on the wall. The lights slowly came up. He let out a

blaring yawn and looked down at the sink. The faucet had no handles to turn on hot or cold, but instead had an infrared sensor. He placed his hands under the spout and a perfect temperature of water flowed out of the sterile chrome. He splashed the pleasantly warm liquid onto his gray stubbled face. Blinking, the man looked up and studied his exhausted self in the large mirror over the sink. He lived alone, had no family to care for and constantly thought he was just another tired old man with a job that seemed to be winding down faster than the US government itself.

Harrison mentally ran down his checklist.

So what have I got? Daily reports from two classified projects I'm not even supposed to talk about in my sleep. Some scientist is supposedly lost in time and another is investigating the UFO that they claim landed in the 50s. Really just a bunch of bull.

The senator did his standard morning routine and after showering, returned to his room to dress in a usual senator ensemble. Still shaking away sleep, the senator slipped on his large glasses. He walked the short distance to the kitchen with sleepy, stone-like eyes hidden behind the thick, tinted lenses. He quickly put together some instant coffee. Finally, he headed out the door to report to the Pentagon.

Upon arriving, he went directly up to the third floor where his office was located.

"Good morning, Ms. Xavier," He greeted his secretary with a nod, "Any mail?"

"Yes, Senator Harrison. It's on your desk."

"Thank you." he said with an insincere tone of gratitude. He walked inside his fairly bland office. The room's walls were almost bare except for the two landscape pictures decorating it. Cheap plush carpeting, cheap desk, cheap chairs, and a standard metallic file cabinet in the corner. With all the money the government has, Harrison thought to himself as he looked around the office, you'd think they'd provide better than this. Harrison set his briefcase down on the desk and sat his chair in front of the computer. Typing out a code to enter into the computer's mainframe, he silently cursed modern technology. In his old age, he had never really gotten used to everything being on computers.

He waited until the screen brightened with a picture model of the actual pentagon and a small window asking him to type in another code. He did. Letting out a sigh, the senator read the newest bulletins from the classified projects. He read down the list of news, some of which was old or tedious. All but one saying, "Dr. Samuel Beckett returns home."

Leaning forward, he swept his glasses off his face, jaw dropped. "Holy shit!"

**Project Quantum Leap  
Stallion's Gate, New Mexico  
Monday, September 4, 2000**

At three in the morning, everything was peacefully quiet in the sterile halls of the Project. In the Beckett apartment though, someone was definitely not a happy camper. Baby Jonathan Beckett was quite awake, the infant's screams cutting through the stillness of slumber. Donna and Sam lay tranquilly in bed holding each other when

they both awoke from a captivating sleep.

"Sam," Donna moaned, "your son is screaming."

"This early in the morning he's yours." Sam stated in a fatigued tone, not opening his eyes.

Donna sighed and got to her feet to fetch their little bundle of joy and a bottle of formula from the refrigerator. She quietly came back into the room cradling their son with one arm and a warm bottle of milk in the other hand. She set the bottle on the night stand beside her side of the bed and carefully slipped under the covers, still holding Little Jonathan. Sam was already sitting up, ready to receive his son. Donna smiled at him and handed little Johnny over to him.

"There you go." She said serenely, handing him the bottle next. She got back into bed and snuggled with her husband as he fed the baby.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Donna asked, noticing Sam's reaction.

"He certainly is." He answered wistfully. Donna caught woe in her husband's voice and was concerned.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

Sam sighed. "When was he born?"

"May tenth of this year. Why?"

Whispering, he answered her. "I didn't get to see his birth. I'm the father and husband. I should've been there."

She looked into his eyes and bore into them with great intensity. "Sam," Donna started gently, "I know and you know that you couldn't have. When you came back that day in September, even if for a

day, I knew you'd come back again." She fell silent. For a moment, neither said a word to each other and all that was heard was the couple's child, feeding hungrily on the bottle.

"I shouldn't have left you."

"And leave you're best friend and mine back in 1945 to die? We all know you couldn't have done that. It wouldn't have been right. But it's over now. You're home and the past is permanently the past. Let it go."

Sam nodded. He gazed into the infant's eyes, identical to his own, and saw how they sparkled with wisdom and intelligence. The characteristics made Sam feel very proud and content. Right now, his son was definitely not much from head to toe, but Sam knew he would grow up to become an important man. Perhaps one that could take on a

large Project like Quantum Leap. But right now, Sam simply enjoyed the stage of infancy while he could. He smiled to himself and then to his wife.

During the day, infinite metallic corridors at the complex all looked the same. At six in the morning, anyone could care less. One after the other, counting the archways, Al Calavicci made his way to the Project cafeteria. Normally he would just make something of his own in his small kitchen; toast, eggs, maybe even an omelet. Today, though, he couldn't stand the isolation of his apartment and wanted to socialize and talk to someone; Sam in particular. Alas, being that it was his first night home, Al thought it best that Sam spend some valuable time with his new family. So instead of waiting in the loneliness of his room, he chose his only other alternative. To mingle with the other members of the Project staff.

The Admiral turned the last corner and came upon a closed door. It automatically opened, splitting in the center, to omit him into the Project cafeteria. The fairly plain room had long stretching tables that ran the length of the room. About half of them were full. Al went to the glass counter to the right of the entrance and began to choose the ready-made breakfast that he would eat.

He decided on a waffle topped with strawberries and syrup, then filled a mug with seeming black coffee. It was mostly the taste that kept them awake during long nights and woke them up in the mornings. Everyone hated it.

Al turned around to look for "the little group" and found them on the opposite end of the dining area. Gooshie, Verbena, . . . Tina. Oh, Tina. How could he have lost her to that little twerp of a computer programmer?

Dismissing the bad blood he felt against Gooshie, Tina's husband, Al crossed the room with casual, easy strides and took a seat next to Verbena Beeks.

She flashed a bright smile his way, "Good morning, Al."

"Salutations, Admiral." Said Gooshie, a protective arm around his wife.

"Hi, Al!" Tina said with her trade mark cheerfulness.

Al grinned. "'Morning, guys."

"And what a lovely morning it is!" Verbena began, "Nice and calm . . . mentally stable."

"Thank God for that. I don't think we could've lived going on like we did." He really hadn't meant for that to rhyme. He grinned at the absurdity of the realization.

Tina giggled. "Hey, that rhymes!"

"Yeah, I'm a poet and I didn't even realize it. Wait, that's not it . . ." That was on purpose and all four laughed. It felt good to have this kind of relaxation again. Even if the next step involved the

committee approval and so on. That'll come later though, Al decided. He continued his conversation with his group, "So, did you all have fun last night?"

Verbena answered, "I danced so much, I couldn't walk straight when we got home."

"Me too." Tina chimed in, "But me and Gooshie got home earlier than most people did. It got stuffy in there, ya know."

The ensign stepped out of the helicopter after the long ride from Washington. There was a guard there waiting for him. "I have a message for Admiral Calavicci and Dr. Beckett that I need to hand deliver immediately. Would you be so kind as to escort me to either one of them?"

The guard nodded, not wanting to waste his breath screaming over the loud hum of the flying vehicle. Then led the way to the entrance of the Project.

When they were both inside the complex, the ensign was seated on a sofa as Ziggy was asked to summon the Admiral.

"Sam we have to report to the Pentagon in two days. They found out that you're back and they have questions." Al said while alone with Sam in his living room. Donna was in Johnny's room rocking him to sleep for his much needed nap.

Sam sat down on the couch and asked what time tomorrow the plane would pick them up.

"Some time around ten or eleven, I think. The guy didn't give me an exact time. But Sam, from the tone in that ensigns voice, they're really serious. We're going to get a hotel suite before the meeting, so we'll have some time to prepare ourselves before facing black death." Then Al took a puff from his cigar and blew smoke away from Sam.

Sam was thinking, how the hell am I going to explain things I don't even remember? But he said, "All right. Then we better get ready. What type of things are they going to ask me. . . and you? I

don't remember anything. Well, except for leaping home a year ago."

Al blew out another stream of smoke, "I don't know what they have in store for us. God knows we've been though enough."

"Yeah, well. . .A hotel suite, huh? Something must be going on. Do they even believe that I've traveled in time?"

Al made a doubtful face, "Good question. Since you leaped they've been asking me where you really are. Maybe they'll want proof that it did actually happen."

Donna walked in then. "You two better get moving if you're going to leave tomorrow." She let out a sigh. "I'll pray that it goes well."

At exactly 9:30 p.m. they boarded the plane and took off. They were to anticipate a four and a half hour flight. The thought of the long flight made Sam feel practically air sick. He never did much like long flights.

The plane was nice on the inside and almost homey. There were two small rows of seats and a conference area in the front of the plane (The conference area was really just a bunch of seats that faced each other) where Al and Sam sat. The windows had small lovely teal curtains hanging beside them.

After a while of silence Al spoke, "Sam during the meeting, I don't want you to get mad at them or anything. Remember what happened the last time you blew up at them?"

Reverse Swiss-Cheese effect kicked in. "Yeah, I remember. They weren't very happy."

"To put it lightly." Al couldn't help himself and began to chuckle. The look on Wietzman's face had been priceless. "In case you forgot I've been telling them for a while that GodFateTime or Whatever has been in charge of your leaps. And the Retrieval Program hasn't been working, so that's why you came home. It was your time."

Sam sighed, "Yeah, I have to fix that thing." Sam leaned his head back, bumping his head on the wall behind him. "Ow. Do we have to go, Daddy?"

Al huffed, " 'Fraid so, son."

Sam grinned, "You know that Retrieval Program does need a lot of work I'm going to start to work on it as soon as we get home. And then there's the Accelerator that needs some adjustments. Then I need to update some of Ziggy's data and programs. Then there's Johnny to think about . . .there sure is a lot to do." Sam was now getting tired just thinking about all that needed to be done. Amazing, he thought, so much to do and I've only been here a few days.

Al watched Sam's face. "Down boy!"

That statement interrupted Sam's thoughts and made him look up at the smirking face of his best friend.

Shrugging his shoulders Al asked, "What?"

They landed at exactly 2:00 New Mexico time, which is 4:00 Washington time. When they stepped off the aircraft, there was a limousine there awaiting their arrival. The driver, 'Fred, just Fred', was an extremely quiet man. He introduced himself, opened the door for them both, and tranquilly drove the two of them to the hotel anticipated.

Upon arriving to the complementary hotel Suite, Sam opened the door took a step inside and held the door open so Al could enter. It was a nice room. The carpet was a light peach that matched the bedspreads of two queen beds. Separating the beds was a single night stand which held a lamp, alarm-radio and a Welcome' note. There was a round table with two chairs on either side, in the corner by the window with hanging peach vertical blinds. Across from the beds was a cherry amour complete with a television set. Beside the amour there was a short long dresser that was also of cherry wood. Then above it what appeared to be a long hexagonal sheet of steel. Beside the door was a hallway which led to a bathroom and a sink, then a bar with a small refrigerator beneath it.

Al walked over to the bed and sat down. He let out a sigh and opened the top drawer in the night stand.

"Al, look at the fruit basket. It's huge." Sam said, vaguely surprised. He couldn't remember the last time the government had taken such drastic measures to see to their comfort.

"Yeah, nice." Al said taking out the standard bible out of the drawer and flipping though the pages. He looked very focused on what he was doing, and the tone in his voice caught Sam's attention.

"Al what are you doing? Do you plan to pray for deliverance from God and success for this stupid meeting?"

"No, I'm looking for a twenty." Al stated. That truly confused Sam. "I once found one in one of these things."

Sam stared at him momentarily, "Okay." then went over to curiously peak into the bar to see what was in it. "And look, there's a little refrigerator, Al. One of those really little ones that you open with the little key."

While Sam spoke Al had gotten to his feet, finding nothing in the good-for-nothing bible, and walked over to the crystal vase full of flowers that was on top of the dresser. Al touched one of the petals and began to remember one of his few happy memories before the war had changed him.

_He quietly opened the door to their room, but it creaked, giving him away. The women at the dressing table wearing tight jeans and a sweater that made her look extremely sexy, turned to look at him. Her smile was radiant and genuine. She raised a graceful hand to push back shining black hair that had fallen in her eyes._

_"Welcome home, Al." she said as she stood up and went to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I missed you awfully today."_

_God she smelled good! He kissed her and brought his hand out from behind his back. He had brought flowers home for her tonight, to make up for the past week that he hadn't been able to come home until she was already in bed; asleep._

_She took the flowers from him and looked down at them. "My favorite." she exclaimed for what must have been the two thousandth time since they had met. "Thank you."_

_He kissed her deeply, expressing all his inner feelings toward the angel in his arms. "I love you."_

Pulling back, and storing the precious memory, Al sadly stated, "Calla Lilies were Beth's favorite." Sam did nothing and Al turned around to face him. "You know, my fifth wife hated Calla Lilies, or was it my fourth?" Al took a cigar out of his coat pocket and lit it up.

"Al?"

"It could have been my third . . ." Al seemed to be trying very hard to remember that small detail.

"Al?"

He looked up with perked eyebrows, "Huh?"

"Uh, nothing. . . But, we only have two hours before we have to leave. So we should get ready."

Al didn't answer to that statement, and turned around to gaze into the sheet of steel upon the wall. Less than a second later within the steel, its surface shifted. Then, as if it had always been so, it converted into a spotless, self-cleaning mirror.

Al ran his hand through his semi-curly black hair, then turned around to once again survey the room. He made a smudge face and said, "It looks like a poodle threw up in here."

Sam nodded in agreement, "Yeah, a big peach one."


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

"Remember, let me do the talking." Al told Sam before entering the large room in which the meeting would be held. Sam took a deep breath and nodded. Almost immediately after they settled in their hotel suite earlier that day, they spent the next two hours recapping on the Leaps. As they initially thought, the "swiss-cheese" effect that had prevented Sam from remembering anything about his home life during the Leaps had taken a reverse effect once he got home. Now Sam couldn't remember anything that happened during the Leaps 

themselves. But Al did. Because he was in the Imaging Chamber instead of actually Leaping back in time, his memory was unaffected. He remembered everything that happened. He was sure the committee would ask Sam questions Sam wouldn't know how to answer because of the reverse "swiss-cheese" effect. So they both had a two hour recap; for Sam to remember and for Al to gain reassurance.

Lightly tugging the jacket of his uniform, Al entered first, peering at their Project's skeptical funding committee under the brim of his cap. Sam followed behind, wearing a dark business suit. You'd never think of Al as an Admiral in his "normal" clothes. But when he wore his dress whites, he not only looked like an Admiral, he acting like one. For Sam, it was kind of scary to see his usually lecherous, fun and very eccentric best friend to act serious. Al explained his behavior once a long time ago and for Sam, once was enough. He said that his life was so filled with seriousness and tragedy that he wanted to leave it behind. Sam didn't quite understand the Admiral's meaning, but he kept any comment to himself.

They both stopped and stood in front of their seats, letting Senator Bernard Wietzman, Senator George Harrison and Senator Diane McBride take their seats first. With a slight nod and a flat tone, McBride said, "You may be seated, gentleman." The Admiral and the Physicist obliged, coincidentally interlacing their hands in front of them at the same time. Al didn't noticed but Sam grinned a bit.

Harrison began, taking out an overstuffed manila folder and setting it down in front of him with a loud thud and said in the same tone used by McBride, "Shall we begin?"

She sat on the edge of the bed, contemplating the suitcase in front of her. Had she packed everything? Should I really go through with it, she was thinking, I've been married for almost fourteen years. It was overwhelming for her. Fourteen years. She was thinking about all the memories he had left her. More bad then good. She

remembered when they were dating in High School. He was so sweet. . . Then. He would surprise her with roses and send her love letters. Then before she knew it, they were married. "The perfect couple" their friends would say.

She remembered when they were by the lake when he proposed to her.

_"I'll love you forever, Melissa. We will never be apart. Never." as he came closer he said, "I love you." Then gave her the most passionate kiss she had ever known._

"I love you too." was all she could say before he tightened his arms around her and kissed her again.

Melissa shook her head as tears escaped her eyes, "Oh, Jerry. Why? Why can't you love me anymore? You promised to share your life with me. Why did you have to change? We were so . . . Why?"

Fourteen years. An eternity.

She made up her mind now. She would go. She stood, ambled over to his sock drawer and took out a wad of twenties. Two hundred fifty dollars of emergency money. Looking at the money in her hand, she became relieved that they never had children. She had always wanted at least one, but Jerry didn't.

"Selfish bastard." she said to no one in particular.

With a little trouble, Melissa took off her wedding band. She left it on the nightstand next to a framed picture. The picture was of them on their wedding day. They looked so happy as they smiled brightly at the camera. But now it was all gone.

She was ready to leave now. There was nothing else for her there. She picked up her purse and her suitcase and wandered out into the living room of the small apartment. Melissa looked around before opening the front door. It was too cold for her there. No love lingered in this place anymore. She had to go or her heart would be in anguish forever. "Good-bye Jerry Banes. I hope you're happy." With her head held high, Melissa Banes opened the door and left without looking back.

Sighing out of exasperation, Al walked outside followed by Sam. The meeting was over but the situation wasn't. So far, all they had established was the history of the leaps. Now came the tough part. Proving it actually happened.

Sam walked halfway down the steps of the government building and leaned on the stair banister. He asked himself, How the hell are we going to prove it? He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. Al came down the steps and stood in front of him.

"Sam," Al asked quite casually, "how the hell are we going to prove it to those nozzles?" Sam hung his head and thought. When he didn't answer Al's question, Al asked, "You okay?"

Sam looked up. "Uh, yeah. I'm fine. It's just that I haven't the slightest clue on how to prove that time travel is possible." He looked up at the sky, subconsciously waiting for an answer from the Almighty. "I don't know, Al." He sighed, looking back to his friend, "We'll have to come up with something."

"We?" Al inquired, "What? Got a mouse in your pocket or somthin'?"

"Oh, ha, ha, ha." Sam said, not amused. "No, we as in you and me."

"Now, wait a minute." Al held up his hand then pointed to the physicist, "You're the brains in this outfit. Not me."

"You can't be serious. Al, without you, the Project itself would have never happened. Are you really going to sell yourself short like that? I need your help on this."

Al was touched but didn't show it. He was excellent at masking his emotions. "Well, in that case, we will think of something. But later. Now, what are we doing tonight?"

"Tonight? I, uh, haven't really thought about it . . . "

"There's a surprise." he mocked.

Sam gave up already. "Okay, fine. To where were you plotting on dragging me tonight?" Sam questioned. The twosome started down the steps again. Al smiled at the question, knowing the the answer he would get from his friend would be a groan of irritation.

"Well," Al began, grinning, "There's this great disco joint down Twelfth St."

Yep. Sam groaned, "I knew it."

"So, how was last night?" Al asked with a grin, when he arrived back at the hotel the next morning. Sam had been packing his suitcase for the trip back home. Al had left him at that loud disco place last night, so it was the first time all morning that he had seen him. Sam looked up when Al spoke. He hadn't heard him enter the room.

"All right, I guess. How about you?"

Al smiled from ear to ear. "Great. You know that blond I met yesterday? Her name's Karine." Then his libido took over, "She said she wanted me to make her . . ."

"Al!?"

"Bed! Make her bed. Geez." Al sighed, deciding that it was better to change the subject. "Didn't I tell you that that was a really neat place? Glad you found your way back here okay."

"It was more noisy than neat." he said under his breath. "You were worried that I wouldn't get back here on my own? For your information, I happen to know my way around. I'm not ten, you know." he stated bitterly.

Angered by the remark, Al snapped, "Hey, don't bite my head off about it! What's up with you? Why all the hard feelings?" Sam didn't answer. He continued packing his suit case almost fiercely. "Try not to kill your clothes during your mood, would you?"

He didn't turn to face him. After last night, he couldn't bear it. He spoke as he continued packing. "I think I've just about had it with your little escapades." he said sternly.

Al didn't say anything for at least a minute. "Ah, so that's what this is about. Well, let me tell you something, buddy boy." He moved closer to Sam. "In case your genius brain hasn't figured it out yet, I am way over fifteen years old. You don't have to worry about me or my life."

"Well, I guess I can say the same to you, buddy boy." His words were cold. That was rare in the Beckett form of speech.

"I really don't get it. You've been home a week and you start this up again."

"Again?" Sam finally looked at Al, "What do you mean 'again'?"

Al shook his head. "Forget it, Sam. It's not important."

Being the bigger guy, Sam pushed Al a bit. "No, go ahead. Tell me."

Al knew what happened the night Sam Leaped. But he avoided the sentimentality of that situation. "I don't have to. You don't remember what happened the night you Leaped, do you?" Al waited for an answer and there was none. The blank look Sam gave him spoke volumes. "You don't. Maybe it's better that way."

"Why?" That simple word was said very softly with partial remembrance. He wanted to know and understand why Al was the way he was and why he had brought up the subject.

"Aw. Look, kid. It's history. Why bring it up?" He shrugged.

"Why don't you tell me? You're the one who brought it up."

He shook his head once more. As he left the room he said, "I think you ought to cool off."

Sam followed him out to the hall but stopped at the doorway and watched as Al retreated from argument. "That's right!" Sam called, "You go ahead and run away to your booze and your women! It's all you ever did! So don't let me stop you!"

Al whirled around one last time before leaving. "What the hell would you know about my life? Why don't you keep your nose in your own fucking business for a change?" Then he left towards the elevators, leaving Sam standing in the middle of the hall; speechless.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Rain, thunder and lightening definitely did not lift the mood Al had buried deep within his heart. Roaming the streets aimlessly as rain pelted against him did not improve his health, but he couldn't care less. He passed a bar during his meandering but thought better of it. It truly wouldn't be right. Ambling on, he stopped in front of a small cafe. He went inside for shelter from the rain. Anywhere was better than with Sam right now.

He looked around the place and noticed no one else was there but the waitress cleaning the top of the serving counter. The dining area was very small, only able to fit a few tables and booths lining the wall under the windows. Oldies played in the background and he remembered when most of the songs they played actually originated. He sighed. Old memories, he thought.

The waitress at the counter glanced at him and smiled. "Mornin'." she acknowledged.

"Morning." he replied sadly.

"Can I getcha somthin'? Coffee? Tea?"

"Coffee's fine. Thanks." Al sat down at the counter, fingers intertwined and hunched over while the waitress went about the coffee. She brought him a simple white cup and saucer and poured in the coffee. "How much do I owe you?" He asked, ready to pull out his wallet.

She waved it off and smiled. "On the house. You look like you could a good cupa coffee. Enjoy it while it's still hot."

"Thanks." he said, bringing out a forced smile. She nodded and went into the kitchen.

He slowly sipped the coffee, enjoying its bitter taste, and carefully set the cup down. Though he was grateful for the awakening drink he felt he didn't want it. Instead, he contemplated the Annapolis ring on his right ring finger for no apparent reason. Then the thoughts, the memories finally came. The memory of the night Sam Leaped.

_"Where the hell have you been?" Sam asked impatiently, sitting behind his desk. He looked at his watch and noted that it was 9:00 in the morning._

_"Heck of a greeting you got there, kid." Al responded. "I've been out."_

_"No shit, Sherlock. Where?" Sam asked again, "Out gallivanting around the city with some prostitute? Drinking?"_

_"Excuse me? I am way over 21 here, Sam. It's my life and I do what I want to."_

_"And that's it, huh?" Sam scrutinized, coming around from behind his desk. "Throw everything we've accomplished out the window? When are you finally going to grow up?"_

Al tried to push the memory of the fight away but it kept eating through the surface of his subconscious. It was almost replayed in the hotel room. He remembered how that fight on May 12,1995 started. He was out most of the day before and slept with a woman he just met that very night. It was common in Al's book and he knew Sam hated it. But he didn't think Sam would make such a big deal out of it. The argument ended with a punch to the jaw and a French leave. Both provided by Al himself. That night he regretted leaving on such bad terms.

_"Control!" Gooshie hollered through the intercom._

_"Yeah, what's happening, Gooshie?" Al asked, trying to drive without accidentally steering the car off the road._

_"He's Leaping!! Ziggy said, 'no.' but Sam's Leaping!!"_

_Al couldn't believe what he just heard. The gorgeous woman beside him was confused at the given information. It was too late to take her back now. He'd have to take her into the Project unauthorized. He returned his attention to the intercom in his car. Angry and concerned at the same time, he said, "He can't Leap! We're not ready!"_

_"Tell Sam that!" Gooshie replied._

_"Put him on!" As frustrated as he was, he did not want to mess with any computer programmer._

_"I can't! He's in the Accelerator!" Silence came over the Admiral. It couldn't end like this. Both he and Sam knew the Accelerator wasn't ready for firing and after hearing what he just heard . . . he was sure Sam was dead. "Al! Al! What do I do?!"_

_"Nothing!" he said, denying his own accusation. "Any interference could kill him! I'll be there in two minutes." He looked at the woman next to him. "Hang on, Beautiful." And off he went down the desert highway at 120 miles per hour._

_He got there in two minutes all right. But by then it was too late. He had left the woman with security and bolted down the stairs. With each step, he lost a little bit of hope. By the time he got to the last step on the last level underground, he had lost all hope. That's it. No more Dr. Beckett. Sam was dead and it was all Al's fault._

That's how it happened but it's not how it ended. It was the regret, concern, and guilt that Al felt on that day that Sam didn't remember. He didn't remember any of it. Not even the fight. Maybe it was better that way.

Sam was motionless as he sat on the edge of the hotel bed trying to figure things out. Many unwanted emotions and thoughts swam adamantly through his head. He wanted to yell, shout, anything in order to get Al's attention and let him forgive his friend. After all, it wasn't Sam's business what Al did in his spare time for fun. He felt like there was a phantom flying around in his head telling him that this whole ordeal had happened before.

He crinkled his brow as another thought came to mind. What if he just apologized to Al? After all, he was the one that blew a fuse. That's it! That's what he'll do! He'll apologize to Al and the whole damn thing will be over with. See?, he asked himself, Nothing to it.

"You want to what?" Al asked half-heartedly.

Sam got Al's attention the minute he came through the door of the hotel room. The way Al looked at him almost made him stutter out his next words. "I want to apologize. I'm sorry for everything that I said. I shouldn't have said them and . . ."

Al looked at him with a poker face making Sam even more timid. "And?"

"That's it." Sam concluded finally.

"Okay." without changing his expression, "Great."

"Great." Being the naive farm boy, Sam thought that solved everything.

With no argument and little conversation, the duo managed to pack and make it back to the airport. On the return trip to New Mexico, it was as if they played mime games. Whatever action they did was stupid and in silence. Either they tried very hard not to look at each other or they completely avoided each other's presence. When one was in the men's room the other was in his seat. When one came back to his seat the other would go to the men's room.

When the plane finally landed, Al and Sam met up with a corporal ready to whisk them back to PQL. They tossed their luggage in the back of the jeep and under the corporal's scrutiny, both almost argued over the front seat.

"Oh, uh, please." Al said to Sam, pointing to the seat.

"No. After you." Sam responded.

"No, please. I insist."

"I strongly insist you take it."

"Look, I said it was fine. You take it."

"I don't need it. You can have it."

"Well, I never said I wanted it."

"I never said I wanted it either."

"Fine!"

"Fine!" Considering how intelligent they both were, it just proved how dumb they could be.

The corporal watched and asked, "Will the two of you be taking separate jeeps?"

They both looked at him and Al grinned. Sam saw it and knew what it meant but he didn't want to say anything. There was mischief behind that grin and almost looked evil. Sam grumpily climbed into the back of the jeep, keeping stray thoughts to himself.

Al told the corporal, "You can ride shotgun. I'll drive."

The next thing they knew, they were driving down the familiar desert highway at 85 miles per hour. The corporal riding in the passenger seat looked plastered into the vinyl. His hands were sweating and clasped onto his shoulder strap for dear life. Sam sat in the back seat almost tempted to put his arms up as if he were on a roller coaster. Al was just enjoying it.

Sam managed to sit forward against the wind and yelled, "You trying to prove time travel's possible with a jeep, Al?"

Al answered, "Sit down, shut up and enjoy the view."

The corporal finally piped up. "Uh, sir? Perhaps it would be wise to decrease our . . ." he swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and said with uncertainty, "current speed?"

"Who asked you?" Al asked. That shut the corporal up. The rest of the ride home was uninterrupted and even though it gave Al the chance to blow off some steam, his subconscious still wasn't satisfied.

"Hi, Honey!" Sam said as he came through the door of his quarters.

Donna was in the kitchen trying to feed little John lunch. "Hi, Sweetheart."

Sam smiled. Dropping his bag next to the door, he headed for the kitchen and gave his wife and good long passionate kiss. He kissed his son's little bald head and let all his problems brush past him for that moment. After a long and stressful trip home, being with his family finally made him feel satisfied. "Hey, Johnny!" Sam greeted.

Donna gave him a hug. "I missed you. How was the meeting?"

"Okay." Sam replied, returning the embrace, "Really, not as bad as I thought it would be."

"Then why the long face?" She questioned.

"Oh, uh, long flight." he responded, forcing out a smile.

Skeptical, Donna pressed, "You've been through long flights before. What was so different about this trip?"

"Nothing. I think it was the food or something." He looked into her eyes to reassure her. She couldn't help but melt away. She always loved his eyes and felt powerless when they bore into hers. She believed him and pressed no longer.

The next morning, Sam woke up bright and early. There was a full day of work ahead of him and Al. They were still having uncomfortable moments being together but Sam thought it was one of those "Al phases". It's happened before. Why would it stop now? Even though they were hard to figure out, they always passed. But somehow, somewhere deep inside, Sam felt . . . strange. As if that day was one of those days when something was going to happen. A bad something. But there was work to be done that could not be averted by a mere feeling. It was probably just his fear intimidating him for no reason.

Casually strolling the hallways as if all was well, Sam Beckett entered Al's office ready to look at some files that may be useful for proof. He froze just as he went through the doorway when he saw Al sitting at his desk with his feet propped up. Al looked up briefly before returning his gaze towards the floor.

Sam stuttered out in embarrassment, "Oh, hi, Al. I didn't expect . . ."

"Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" Al asked bitterly

"It's . . . it's eight in the morning and . . . you're usually not up until at least nine. I just thought . . ."

"You just thought you'd go through my files to get started on your own. I know already. That's why I'm here."

"Oh. Okay. I guess we should get started then."

"Yeah, I guess."

Putting himself into his "work mode", Sam sat in one of Al's spare chairs and began, "Now about proving our theory."

Al didn't move from his position. He sighed out of exhaustion. It was too early in the morning for him to be thinking right now but he had no choice. "Uh-huh. Our theory. Right." Proving our theory, Al thought to himself, Our friendship means absolutely nothing right now. Sure, Sam. Let's prove our theory.

When Sam used his noggin, he became antsy and unable to sit still. He stood back onto his feet and started pacing around the room, rubbing his chin. Then, nonchalantly he said, "We need some kind of program that would prove this thing once and for all."

Al was still sarcastic and out of whack. "Gee, really? And what would you do if I told you that I already have one?"

"What?" Sam asked, turning to face him.

"I already have one."

Marching over to the fatigued Admiral, Sam asked, "And when were you planning to tell me?"

"When it was time." Getting up from his seat, Al went over to his file cabinet, pulled out a folder marked "Proof Program" and tossed on the desk for Sam to see.

Sam picked it up and read the label. "Proof Program? That's original."

"I didn't exactly have time for creativity, Beckett. Give me a break."

"Okay. Okay. Geez. I was only teasing."

Closing the cabinet's drawer, Al retorted, "Yeah, well, save it."

Sam said nothing more. Not during one of Al's moods. He flipped through the file and saw calculations for a new program using a blood sample which would enable anyone with the matching DNA to observe the past in the Imaging Chamber. "This is great but . . . where's the rest."

"Well, that's why I was saving it. It's not finished. But I know it'll work. I just needed an extra brain around. Particularly the founding brain of this outfit."

"Me?"

"No, Mickey Mouse. Of course you, Beckett. Did you think that . . ." He shook his head, not wanting to get into anymore arguments over stupid things. "Forget it, Sam. Let's get crackin' before the end of the day. I want this thing over with as much as you do."

Sam had to resist saying the coincidences were because of their friendship. It wasn't a comfortable subject and besides, they both knew it anyway. So practically the rest of the day, they worked without letting sentimental feelings get in the way. Not stopping for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, Al and Sam both worked as hard as they could despite the tension between them. Everybody who saw the way they acted thought it was a miracle they hadn't killed each other yet. These guys working together? Yeah, right. But they did a pretty

good job of hiding their anger. Pretty damn good job indeed. At least until ten thirty seven p.m.

"I thought we were agreed!" Al stated angrily, tossing papers all over the floor.

Sam retorted with more nervousness than confidence. "We never agreed on anything!!"

"What about the parameter margins for the radium ring in the damned Imaging Chamber!? Weren't you the one who said you would set them?"

"I thought you said you would set them!"

"I said I would be happy to let you set them! Have you been going deaf all those years of Leaping through time? Even after you came back, it turns out that I'm still the one running this place with some kind of organization!"

Feeling as if he'd just been punched in the jaw, Sam lurched forward to grab the smaller man's collar. As Al tried to break free of his hold, Sam asked, "You want it?" He thrusted the Admiral hard

against the wall causing him to fall to the floor, gasping for air. Sam finally finished with bitter cold words, "You can have it!"

Then he stomped out of the room.

Seconds passed but they seemed like hours. Al regained his breath and stood. Standing close to a file cabinet, he punched it hard enough to make an indent on the side. He quickly thought things over and decided to track down the flaming physicist he called his friend. Roaring through the halls of PQL, he finally found Sam standing in front of the elevator.

Al stomped over to him and forced Sam to face him. "Listen to me, you crazy son of a bitch! It was your idea to drag me into this, not mine! I never said I wanted the fucking project!"

Sam's eyes narrowed. "But it was your choice to stay with this project. You had the chance to retire."

"And you know why I didn't? Because there was no one else to watch over you after pulling that crazy stunt back when this whole thing started!"

"You're so damn full of yourself, you know that?" As Sam rambled on about who was wrong and who was right, the elevator doors opened. Out of the corner of his eye, Al saw a glint of the 45. that a very drunk technician held in his hand. Instinct took over and Al pushed Sam to the ground just as two shots rang out. Both men lay on the floor stained with fresh hot blood.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

He felt dizzy. The linoleum was cold. He had no idea what had happened in the past few moments. First he and Sam were arguing, two shots rang out and there was silence. Except for the alarm sirens.

His ears rang violently caused by the sirens echoing their song throughout the halls. He moaned and turned his head from side to side. Sam was right next to him. He was knocked out and his lab coat was drenched with blood.

The first thought that came to his mind was that Sam lay dead in front of him. He gathered up just enough strength to speak. "Sam? God, no." His voice was hoarse and his hands were slick with blood. He tried squirming just a little bit closer to Sam but found his legs wouldn't obey him. He beckoned his friend once more. "Sam, wake up. Please . . ." Then Al fell unconscious.

The gunman staggered out of the elevator's sanctuary. He carried the .45 in his right hand. Looking down with a face engraved with hate, he wiped his nose on his sleeve and spoke. "You deserved it, you sons of bitches. Both of you!" He slurred his words. He was drunk and also convinced that Dr. Beckett and Admiral Calavicci were traitors to the employees. Using them for the money. Now, he was sure he'd done his rebellious job and the duo lay dead in front of his eyes.

"Freeze!!" The gunman heard the command from behind him. Almost hysterically, he twirled around, shooting aimlessly in all directions and screaming, "They deserved it!! They're dead!" The M.P. took cover around the corner, hoping what the man said wasn't true, and managed to get a few shots passed his protective wall. Only after his third shot rang out that he heard no more shots coming from the enemy. A quick peek into the corridor and the M.P. saw the gunman lying dead in a pool of his own blood.

The walkie talkie attached to the M.P.'s belt made sounds close enough to be human. Then a voice on the other end said, "Corporal! Corporal Jenkins!" It was the chief of security. "Jenkins, what the hell is going on down there?!"

Jenkins swiftly grabbed his walkie talkie and yelled, "Sir, there's been a shooting! We have three men down!!"

The chief replied, "We're on our way!"

The alarm was still sounding. Jenkins heard heavy leather boots stomping down the corridor by then. There had to be at least five of them. As soon as they arrived to the scene, they began examining the bodies. Sam was still knocked out from hitting his head on impact to the ground. The gunman was dead. But Al was unconscious caused by blood loss.

Then the med team finally arrived.

"I wanna see Al!!" Sam demanded to Dr. Bryce. They stood in Dr. Bryce's almost barren office in the Albuquerque hospital. Sam had been so preoccupied worrying about Al that he hadn't taken the time to change into fresh clothes. He managed to get rid of his lab coat but his clothes under it were still covered with dark red blotches of blood. Al's blood, Sam realized.

Only a few hours had passed and they'd been through a complete catastrophe. After the incident in the hall, Al had been taken to the ER at Albuquerque General. As it turned out, his injuries were far too severe for the inadequate Project Infirmary. Dr. Christopher T. Bryce was a stocky man with salt-and-pepper hair. He was one of the hospital's top neurosurgeons. Sam briefly wondered why they called for a neurosurgeon.

Upon coming out of surgery, Sam repeated the same demand. "Let me see him!"

"Jesus Christ, Sam. He just came out of a difficult one and a half hour surgery. Let him get some rest."

A shiver was sent down his spine as a thought came to him. "Difficult? Why difficult?"

"These kinds of situations are always difficult."

"Please," Sam pleaded, "You gotta let me see him."

"I won't repeat myself."

Sam had finally had it. "Then I'll go without your permission." Sam tried to maneuver around his fellow doctor.

Bryce stopped him by grasping Sam's shoulders and finally looking him in the eye for what he was about to say. "All right. Have it your way. But before you go in there, there's something you should know."

**Albuquerque, NM  
September 8, 2000**

Light.

The first thing he saw was light.

In fact, the only thing he saw was light. His eyes were barely cracked open and the intense morning light that poured through the hospital's white curtains was enough to make his head ache even more that it did already.

Then his ears finally opened up to sound and he heard snoring coming from his left. He was too tired, though, and hurt to much to turn his head and attempt to look to see who was with him. Then whoever was there stirred a bit before finally cracking his eyes open.

"Al?" It was Sam. "You awake?"

Al moaned and suddenly felt a dull ache in his abdomen. "I think so." His ears piped up with more sound. This time it sounded like humming machines. A heart monitor and various others. He felt anoxygen tube in his nose and an IV taped into his arm. "What happened?" He asked drowsily.

Sam slowly leaned forward. The words he was about to say he tried hard not to believe. But sometimes, the truth had to be said no matter how ugly it might seem. "You . . . were shot."

"God. . ." Al rolled his head on the pillow.

"I know. I know." Sam said in grief.

"I thought you were shot." Then his eyes widened a bit. "You're okay, right?"

Sam looked at him in confusion. He was the one that was supposed to be worrying. Not Al. "Me? Yeah, I'm okay. But . . ."

Al cut him off. "Before I keeled over I saw you covered in blood. I freaked out."

"Al, there's no easy way to say this."

"Say what?" His eyes couldn't stay open anymore.

Never in all his life had Sam lingered on the thoughts before him. To tell the best friend he's ever had that something drastically tragic has happened to them. And this was Al he was facing. How could

someone who's had so much catastrophe in their life survive with yet another obstacle? It was mind boggling the way the human race worked and Al Calavicci got his fair share of the unexplainable. Sam shook his head from confusion. He needed to say it. He needed to tell him. What Sam expected to be a blunt statement in reality came out a mere whisper. "You're paralyzed."

Al was so tired that he barely heard it. "Paralyzed?" He asked, half asleep. He huffed and said, "I've had worse days."

"I don't think so." He bit his lip and braced himself to quote Dr. Bryce's words. "You've taken two bullets to your abdomen. It's a miracle they didn't hit any of your internal organs."

The Admiral was annoyed with the tech talk. "Quit sounding like a damn doctor, Beckett. Spill what you have to and get it over with."

Reluctant, Sam said, "If you want it that way. One of the bullet's severed your spinal cord. They said that there's no possible chance of recovery."

"Meaning?"

"You won't be able to walk again." He stated it all in one breath and hung his head.

Cynical as always, Al didn't believe him. "Oh, what a crock."

"This isn't a joke, Al! Believe it or not, this is reality."

His voice was fading fast and he had no strength left to argue. He simply lay down the bottom line. "Don't talk to me about reality, kid. I've been dealing with it since I was seven years old and there's no reason to stop now."

Sam knew Al wasn't going to last much longer. Sleepwise. He was fading really fast. So Sam took the opportunity to apologize. He took the older man's hand and could've sworn he felt it weakly try to pull away. It didn't go anywhere. "Al?" Sam whispered in his ear. Al groaned. "Al," He said again, "I'm sorry. For all those nasty things I said. I'm sorry this ever happened."

"You apologize one more time and I'll pop you one." was the last thing Al said before falling back to sleep.

After deciding there was nothing more to do at the hospital, Sam bolted back to the Project. He had a conference with the Chief of Security and found who the would-be assassin was. Jeremy Banes was a technician on level 7, sector E-5. His wife had left him three days prior to the shooting. They suspected that Banes was merely an unsatisfied employee.

"Unsatisfied employee!? My best friend is lying in a hospital bed, paralyzed for life and it's all because of some psycho's dissatisfaction with his job!? I don't buy it, Chief. He wouldn't go off on a shooting spree just because he didn't like his job! Even if he was drunk and his wife left him, why would he want to hurt Al? What's his motive there?" Sam paced around the conference room in front of Chief Wiley.

"Dr. Beckett. Banes' blood alcohol content was so high . . ."

Sam cut the Chief off. "I don't care if his BAC was 80 proof! That's still no reason to shoot anyone if all his anger was directed toward his wife! Did you find any evidence leading to this?"

"Not yet." The Chief looked and sounded extremely calm based on the situation.

"A motive?"

"All we found was a note his wife left him."

"Where? Can I see it?"

"We found it in Banes' cubical."

Thoughts swirled around in Sam's head. Maybe he can find something there. Help out with the investigation and become an amateur gumshoe. "Take me to Banes' quarters."

"Now, Dr. Beckett . . ."

"Now, damn it!" He slammed his fist down on the table as he said it.

The Chief stood abruptly from his chair. "Dr. Beckett," he said firmly, "You are being very irrational about this. I understand that you and Admiral Calavicci are quite close but I suggest that you leave the investigating to military intelligence. If you are caught doing investigating on your own, you will be suspended from this project. Understand?"

Sam stared at his a moment. They can't suspend him from his own project, could they? He remembered Al telling him once that the military could be a pain in the ass and that they'd do what ever the hell was necessary. He nodded once and said, "So basically you're telling me to go fly a kite, right?"

The Chief's stone cold eyes hadn't changed. "Precisely, Doctor. Now, you get out of here and keep your mouth shut about this. I don't want any media with this one."

Sam took a deep breath. He didn't like this. He didn't like this at all. But he had no choice. "Yes, sir." and he left the conference room.

Sam sat in front of his computer screen in his office. It all happened so fast. In a matter of twenty for hours, his best friend has been paralyzed, the bad guy's dead and Sam has been warned about doing any investigating. But he's broken the rules before. Only this time, he'll need Ziggy's help.

"Ziggy." Sam called.

"Yes, Dr. Beckett?" her computer voice purred.

"I need you to do me a favor. I need you to tap into Jerry Banes' PC."

"I'm afraid I can not do that, Doctor."

Sam was frustrated as it was. "Why the hell not!?"

"Because, Doctor, it would be going against the specific orders Chief Wiley has given you."

Sam sighed and rested both his palms on his desk. "Okay, Zig. I'm going to be real blunt with you. You get into Jerry Banes' computer or I'll rip out your entire CPU with my bare hands!!"

"I don't think so, Doctor. Ripping out my CPU would shut down the entire project. We don't that to happen, do we?"

"Then I'll personally see to it that your sex sensory microchip becomes lizard food!"

His bribe worked and his computer beeped to tell him. He focused back to his computer and read down the list of files. There were hundreds of them. It took him almost the rest of the night to get

to the last ones. After going through five cups of bad tasting coffee, he finally got to the end. The file he found surprised him so much that he thought he might actually have something for a lead. It was dated the day before.

_20k Surprise! 09/07/00_

Sam clicked on the file and read:

_To The Good Doctor,_

_F.P._

_Your secret admirer_

Sam had no idea what to say of this. When he tried to ask Ziggy what this note meant, the power went it out. It was blacker than the blackest night down on Level 10 of PQL.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

_So far, it's been two months since the sudden but brief blackout occurred. We only have one month left before the committee visits the project for our proof presentation that time travel is actually_

_possible. So far we've been able to manage but having Al around would make things a lot easier. In order for this thing with the committee to work, we had to make sure that Ziggy's CPU was impeccable. Even one blackout could result as a problem. But so far, we found nothing wrong with Ziggy's main CPU as of yet. No glitches, nothing leaving a trace from where the problem came from. But just the not knowing was enough to give me a bad feeling._

_Then there's mystery number two. The note I found in Banes' PC. It was supposedly addressed to me. Who else would be called the "Good Doctor"? People who would call me that either knew me really well or hate me. Or both. "FP" was drawing up question marks too. What the hell did "FP" mean? It's obviously a clue and I'm determined to find out the solution to all this mystery._

_While me and the rest of the Project Staff worked about PQL, Al Calavicci spent his fair share of time in Albuquerque General Hospital. The Rehab Facility seemed like a good place during my intern years. It was a place full of encouragement, determination, and potential. I enjoyed it then. Now that Al was there, though, I couldn't help but feel trapped. Guilty for him being there in the first place. Maybe, just maybe, if I hadn't picked such a fight like the one two months ago, I'd expect Al to walk through my office door in the mornings and say, "Let's get crackin', kid. We've only got one month left before those government nozzles gives us a little visit."_

_I knew I'd have to be there with him. He needed someone standing by him. Sometimes, I wish it didn't have to be me . . ._

**Albuquerque General  
November 12, 2000**

"Don't you have anything else better to do?" Al asked Sam in annoyance. He was lifting weights while he lay back on a weight bench. His legs were sprawled out in front of him in such a way that it almost looked uncomfortable. Al didn't feel them so he didn't notice, much less care. He wore a navy blue polo shirt and khaki slacks which, to Sam and everyone else he knew at the project, looked kind of strange on Al.

Sam thought about the question he was asked with an incredulity beyond what he had expected. "No." Sam answered after a moment.

Al stopped his weight lifting and made an attempt to sit up. It was harder for him than it looked but he made it. His physical therapist saw him, half-smiled and walked over from the nurses station. She had thick dark hair made up in a bun, dark eyes, and semi-dark skin. She was Al's type, Sam thought.

"Are we all done, Admiral?" She asked.

"Yes, we are. Thank you, Lisa." By the tone of Al's voice, Sam knew he wasn't too fond of Lisa after all.

Lisa looked at Sam and mused, "He's not lying, is he?"

Before Sam could fumble for an answer, Al sighed and barked, "No, I am not lying, Lisa. Now, would you please go away?"

Lisa huffed. "I'm not going anywhere if you have that kind of attitude." She answered with a hand on her hip.

"Great. So now I'm stuck with the princess of bad attitudes." He transferred from the weight bench to the hospital issued wheelchair next to him with some difficulty. The solid tires weren't locked as they should have been and as soon as his butt made it to the edge of the seat, the chair flew backwards and he ended up on the floor. He was flat on his back, legs twisted in an awkward position.

Sam's first reaction was to help. But just as soon as he executed the action it was waved off by Lisa.

"He can do it himself. Right, Admiral?" The therapist said.

Al didn't answer. Sam felt helpless just standing there. Lisa got the chair back. She parked it right behind the embarrassed admiral, this time making sure the wheels were locked. He untwisted his legs and did a floor-to-chair transfer which took forever to learn. It still needed work. He almost didn't make it again.

"Are you okay, Al?" Sam asked timidly.

Al didn't look at him when he answered, "I have more than one answer to that."

"Why don't you two go on?" Lisa said. "You're finished until after lunch, Admiral."

"Thanks, Ms. Levitz." Al stated sarcastically, "You're so amiable." He rolled off toward his room down the hall with Sam following behind. "So, what did you come here for?" he asked Sam.

Briefly confused, Sam stuttered, "I - I came to see you."

"Well, that's reassuring." He got to his room. It was getting close to lunch and Al wanted to grab the Grisham novel he'd almost finished reading for the second time. He always ate alone in the cafeteria and was getting known for it by then.

Sam stared down at Al's wheels while he stuttered for something to say.

"Damn it, Beckett. Spit it out already!" Al ordered as he rummaged through his drawers for the book.

"Al." Sam finally said.

"What?" Al asked impatiently, slapping the paperback onto his lap.

"I'm sorry." He knelt down at eye level with Al, gripping the armrests. "I'm so, so very sorry. But . . ." Sam tried to think of what to say next. He looked into Al's eyes and felt their intensity. Al was really just looking at him as if he'd lost his mind. But for the physicist, one look was all it took for him to chicken out again. "I can't stay here." He stood and walked over to the doorway.

"Wait." Al commanded quietly before Sam could make it through the door. Sam stopped without turning around. He said nothing. Al hung his head and continued in a hushed tone, "Why, Sam? Why . . . can't you stay? Is it because of me? Or because you can't stand to see me . . . crippled? Huh? Answer that for me. Then you can run away."

Anger flushed through Sam's cheeks. He turned to face Al. "I never run away!" he barked.

The Admiral looked up again and matched his friend's anger. "Get real, Sam." His eyes narrowed. "It doesn't take six doctorates to figure out what you've been doing since I got here."

"Don't you dare go there." Sam warned.

"If you came here to pout about what happened between us two months ago, let me give you some advice. Get over it! Do I need to spell it out for you? Display it in sign language? See, it all worked out perfectly for you. So why are you complaining? You said you didn't like the way I slept around. Guess what, Sam? Mr. Wally's perfectly out of order! Permanently! You got what you wanted and as usual, I get dumped on. So, see ya later. You can leave now."

"Look, I didn't come here to help you feel sorry for yourself!"

"Then why the hell did you come here? I never thought your ego was exactly big enough for gloating. So, g'head. Why'd you come if all you do is run away?"

Both men were quiet after what Al had said. Sam just stood in the doorway, averting his eyes from his friend's paralyzed form. He thought his next sentence over carefully before letting it out.

"I need your help." He stated weakly.

Al stared at him for a minute but then immediately came to the rescue. "What . . . kind of help?" Al questioned.

Sam was quiet, trying to figure out what to say next. He slowly took a folded piece of paper out of his breast pocket. For a few moments, Sam just looked at it sitting in his hands, not knowing what to do with it. Al watched him, unable to speak. After two months of constant avoidance, Sam needed his help.

Without a word, Al was handed the slip of paper. He unfolded it and read it.

"Where did you find this?" Al asked.

Sam was almost afraid to talk to him. But he had to say something. He walked back inside the room, closing the door behind him, and sat on the bed.

"I . . . ," he swallowed the lump in his throat, "I found it on Banes' PC mainframe. I was told not to do any investigating on my own and to leave it to military intelligence. But I couldn't. They wouldn't do anything. They wouldn't let me do anything. So, I had to find something on my own."

"You," Al said as he stared down at the letters on the paper, "disobeyed specific instructions from the Chief of Security? Do you know how much trouble you'd be in if they found out?"

Sam nodded knowingly, "Yeah. They said they'd suspend me from the project. But they didn't find out and they won't. Not unless I was careless."

"When did you find this note?"

Sam's conscious shrunk as he said, "Two month's ago."

Al looked at him furiously. "Two months!? Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

How could Sam answer that? He stared down at the floor trying to decide what to say. Then he finally came out and told Al that he didn't think it would have been right to tell him in his condition. That he didn't tell him for Al's well-being.

Al was infuriated.

"Are you nuts? Have you completely lost it? Since when did you begin worrying about my well-being!? I wanna know who this bastard that shot me was and I wanna know why the hell he did it!!"

The physicist hung his head, whispering, "He was supposed to shoot me, not you."

Al looked at the note again. Sure enough it was addressed to "The Good Doctor". Al thought about it a minute. "Why would a would-be assassin leave a note behind to someone who he was supposed to kill the day before?"

Sam lifted his head back up. "What?"

"Banes was dead at the time the shooting took place. A day after, he was probably in the city morgue. So that can only mean that someone else left the note." Al read the short note. "A not-so-nice someone."

"How can you tell?"

"Well, in New York around the late 40s early 50s there was the Mad Bomber. He left the letters 'FP' etched in a piece of metal every time he left a bomb. When he was caught, the police found that 'FP' stood for 'Fair Play'." Al stopped a moment, watching his friend with concern. "Sam, whoever this guy is, he's not playing around. He wants revenge for something and I have the feeling he'll do anything to make sure you die."

Sam looked at Al, wondering how Al could worry more about him than himself so easily. Al was the one who will live the rest of his life in a wheelchair and Sam knew Al was aware of it. Yet his attention was focused on the situation at hand and not his sudden disability. Sam marveled at how strong the human soul could be, but thinking about Al now only created a pit in his stomach.

Sam nodded knowingly. "So what do I do?"

Al leaned in close. "Find the bastard."

Headed back home with a new conscious, Sam thought about what Al said. Every word was enveloped openly like a sponge in water. The only problem was, as simple as it sounded he didn't know where to start looking for this guy. He didn't know who he was. Sam couldn't even think of anyone who might actually want to harm him. So far, it was a dead end.

As Sam's black jeep pulled into his parking space in the military compound he called home, the guard at the gate ran up to him.

"Dr. Beckett." Said the ensign.

"What is it, ensign?" Sam asked.

The lanky blonde soldier answered, "Sir, they need you in the Control Room. They said it's important."

Sam got out of the car. "Do you know what's so important?"

"They wouldn't say, sir."

The physicist jogged down to the core of his project, occasionally dodging technicians and others passing by. He walked into the Control Room just as the door slid open and saw his three top staff members surrounding the juju bead console they called Ziggy. Gooshie, the short one with bad breath and thinning red hair, and his gorgeous wife Tina, wearing a skin tight dress under her loose lab coat, were both there. Sam's favorite person in the whole world was there too. His own wife Donna, who looked incredible in anything. Even the jeans, sneakers, and shirt she wore with her tousled curly hair. Sam grinned with delight.

He went over to her and gave her a good long kiss as he held her in his arms.

"Where's Johnny?" Sam asked his wife.

"Asleep up stairs. Toolie's with him." Donna quickly became serious. "But that's not the issue right now. You've got to take a look at this."

Sam looked at the other two and said, "Right. What's up?"

"Dr. Beckett," Gooshie started, "We've been sabotaged."

Beckett let go of his wife, an enormous frown on his face. "What?"

Tina handed him some printouts as the programmer continued, "The blackout that occurred two months ago was no accident. It was caused by a virus."

As if on cue, a projected 3D diagram of circuitry appeared and rotated atop Ziggy's console as the computer continued in her sultry programmed voice. "The Aurora virus was downloaded into my hard drive two months, four days, six hours, and forty-one minutes ago. The downloading occurred when Dr. Beckett opened a file from the late Dr. Jeremy Banes' personal computer, unaware of the fact that the virus was attached to the file."

Donna didn't know about this. "Sam? You disobeyed security?"

But Beckett had other things on his mind. The Aurora virus didn't exist in his knowledge of viruses. His photographic memory would know that it wasn't on the list of common computer viruses. Yet it sounded so familiar to him. He knew he'd heard of it before but he was having trouble remembering.

"Sam?" his spouse pressed.

He ignored her. "Ziggy, what parts of your circuitry did this virus effect?"

She took a while to answer. She finally said, "The Aurora virus has been embedded in my CPU. From what I could find, the virus is . . .," The the computer's voice changed radically into typical teenager's speech, "it's gonna, like, destroy my CPU!"

Everyone turned their heads to the glowing fiber optic orb that hung above the juju bead console. "Huh?" They chimed simultaneously.

Ziggy's voice turned low and sultry again. "The virus has already affected the core of my CPU. Removing it would be a futile attempt."

"Maybe not." Sam reassured. "Gooshie. Tina. Get working on her. Donna, come with me to my office." The couples jumped into action. While the Crosnolfs began working on chips and wiring, the Becketts went to Sam's main office on the 10th floor.

Both he and Al had two offices. Each had one in the office wing on the 2nd floor and a bigger one on the 10th. During the project's early years of development, Al and Sam had decided on two offices since they were the ones to spend the most time working there.

Sam rushed into his office with his wife scurrying behind. "What is it, Sam?" She knew something was wrong. Something badly wrong.

"Close the door." He ordered. Donna obeyed. "I know about the Aurora virus. I know what it does, when it was created . . ." He stopped. With his knowledge now in place, he was afraid to talk.

"What, Sam?" She persisted.

Timidly, Sam started again. "I know who wants to kill me."

Donna stood in shock. "Who?"

He couldn't come up with any words. He just sat down in his chair behind the desk and stared into space. Could it be after all these years, the man who created the virus was the psychotic wanna-be assassin?

Sam had met this man in college, befriending him with their shared knowledge and goals to excel in quantum physics. Soon, they became partners. When the Star Bright Program became a reality, they worked on time travel theories. Sam's partner soon became jealous when he had to constantly catch up with Sam. Out of anger, he took the credit for Sam's time travel theories which soon got him kicked out of the Program and any other government project because of such plagiarism. Sam had not heard from him since. It wasn't like Sam wanted to keep in touch with him anyway.

With the thoughts automatically put into place Sam almost inaudibly answered with the name of the man. "Yen Hiroshi."


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

As students at MIT, Yen Hiroshi and Sam Beckett got along very well despite their differences in extracurricular amusement. Sam liked to study and read books on Lotfi Zida's theories on fuzzy logic and Yen liked to create viruses and send them to people he didn't really care for. Yen was the mischievous fellow of the twosome. Sam was shy and private. But somehow they managed a friendship together.

They became best friends from two different worlds. Much like Sam and Al, opposites attracted. In the early years at MIT, Yen was the little guy and Sam was just there, passing by and noticed the little nerd being bullied by a group of jocks. Though Sam was a nerd himself, he was big. Six feet and some training in martial arts can scare anyone away. Especially after one of those jocks received two very nasty, personalized bruises.

After that little incident Yen and Sam became acquaintances, saying hello to each other while passing through the halls.

As time passed, the MIT students got to know each other more and more, discovering that they shared similar interests. They were both computer geeks, liked quantum physics and so on. They both wanted to travel in time.

After college, Sam introduced his string theory to Yen. Thus was born the Star Bright Program some time during the early eighties. But as the years went by for the duo, Yen no longer was the weaker one. He became a stronger person and maybe even a little jealous of Sam's mental ability exceeding Yen's.

Jealousy can be stronger than one thinks. Sam was doing all the calculations and equations while Yen was traipsing behind. At first, the delay to catch up with Sam amused Yen. Then it began to frustrate him. Finally, the stage of pure, unrefined anger came along.

Sam explained all this to Al while Sam nursed his fifth beer in the local bar in Albuquerque. Al watched Sam carefully while he himself sipped on a snifter of brandy. He had only seen Sam this bad when his life was in danger or when he was depressed. From what Al could tell, he was both. Thinking about this Yen character sent a chill through his own body.

"Why'd he get so angry?" Al asked with a furrowed brow.

Sam chugged the rest of his beer down then slammed the bottle down on the table. "Well," he started with a drunk slur, "See, he was angry because he grew up in Japan. They have a high suicide rate there you know."

Al knew what he said made absolutely no sense but he answered anyway. "I didn't know that, no."

"Well, anyway, Yen grew up in a very pushy family. Very pushy family. Over in Japan you're either the best or ...," he made the notions of a beheading. "Get the picture?"

"Oh. So he got angry at you because you were better than him. And he wasn't used to being beaten."

Sam's eyebrows shot up along with a sort of smile that held drunk delight. "Right!"

Al shook his head with a repressed impish grin. It was kind of amusing to see Sam like this sometimes. But only a little. Al didn't think it was too fun to see his best friend suffering in emotion. "Sam." Al beckoned the man across from him.

Sam had laid his head down on the table like in kindergarten. Moving his head so he could look at Al from just above his arms Sam said, "Hey, Al. Why are your clothes so weird?"

An eyebrow shot up. "My clothes?" He looked down at himself. A green, blue, red, and yellow polo shirt and khaki slacks clothed his body. Not-so-special casual shoes covered his feet resting on the foot plates of the hospital's wheelchair. "What about 'em?"

Almost whimsically, Sam sighed out, "They're weird!"

"You've had one too many drinks, pal. I think we'd better go." But he forgot already. He can't drive yet and Sam was the one who brought them to this place. He's drunk. The realization of his

limitations struck Al like a bolt of lightening. He looked down at his disobedient limbs. "Damn. You know what?" He looked at Sam whom was attempting to stand up straight. "I think we'd better call Donna to pick us up."

Sam leaned on the table trying to keep his balance and nodded. "Let me go to the bathroom first."

"Go on. I'll make the call." As Sam disappeared into the men's room, Al rolled over to the pay phone in the corner of the bar. There were two phones. One was considerably lower than the other and Al never thought he'd have to use it before. He rummaged through his pocket for a quarter and inserted it. Donna answered the phone and Al explained the situation. The physicist's wife she'd be there in 20 minutes.

With that they both hung up and Al turned his chair around to head back to the table, accidentally colliding with a man.

"Excuse me." Al said as politely as he could. He hated when this kind of thing happened.

"No problem." Said the Asian man. As Al began to make his way around the man, he was stopped. "Hey, aren't you that Admiral guy that got shot about two months ago?" He had a low tone to his voice, as if he were undercover for something and just happened to bump into someone that had been in the news for the past few weeks. 'National hero shot and paralyzed' and it seemed like the whole world knew.

With his hands still poised over his wheels, Al hung his head, dwelling over this person's absolute rudeness and said, "Yeah, that's me." This man had the blackest eyes he'd ever seen. Very cold,

heartless and scrutinizing, as if he were gloating some how. He had a very ugly and very large scar along the left side of his face along the jaw line and Al briefly wondered what had made that scar. He shrugged. "What? You want my autograph for somethin'? 'Cause I gotta tell you, I've got plenty of other better things to do than to put up with someone as presumptuous as you."

Just as Al started back toward the table, he heard the man say, "I bet Banes left a hell of an impression on you." Al stopped. Banes? How would that guy know about Banes? The name of the shooter was never mentioned in the newspapers. Even though the whole thing was supposed to be kept secret, somehow the media managed to get the main idea of the situation that happened in the Project. And Al Calavicci was already known to John Q. Public, so that made the story more interesting. So it was perfectly understandable that Al was spotted. But the shooter's name was never mentioned. So how could the Asian man have known his name?

The man walked out the door as Al sat there trying to quickly put two and two together. When it clicked in his mind, he turned around but it was too late. Was it him? The coincidence would be too strange. It had to be him. Turning back around and heading for the table, Al thought about it for a second. Asian man in a bar who knew the name of the shooter. It can't just be coincidence. Sam came back to the table.

"Hey, Sam. This Yen guy you told me about..."

Sam shrugged. "Yeah, what about 'im?"

"Well, did he have a scar on the left side of his face? Along the jaw line?"

Sam's glazed over eyes widened somewhat. "How did you know? Did I tell you?"

Al shook his head. "No, you didn't tell me." He backed up a bit and pointed to the front door, "But a man I just bumped into, an Asian man, had a very nasty scar on the left side of his face. And he knew a lot more about the shooting than anyone I know."

Sam asked, "Like what?"

"Like Banes. His name wasn't released into publicity." Al watched Sam. "You think it was him?"

Sam didn't even give himself time to think and ran for the door, Al chasing after him. Sam ran out the front door, stumbling down the steps into the street.

"Sam!" Al called out as he rolled down the ramp. "Get out of the street."

A car sped out of the parking lot and thinking it was the car the supposed Yen was getting away in, Sam made a lame attempt to follow it on foot. He didn't get very far, and Al kept yelling at him to get out of the street. Finally getting his bulky wheelchair out into the street to Sam, Al realized another thing. "Sam! It's a setup! Damn it, Sam! It's a setup!"

But before either of them could move, the headlights of another car grew brighter as the vehicle approached at a rapid speed. In one tenth of a second, Sam pulled Al out of his chair and onto the asphalt as the car sped by and sent the empty wheelchair flying through the air, irreparably bent. The car drove away.

Al moaned softly. "Aw, geez." He rolled over onto his back side, Sam moaning next to him.

"Damn it." Sam said, picking himself up and dusting himself off. Patrons from the bar ran out after seeing what happened through the windows asking Sam and Al if they were alright.

"We're fine." Al answered them.

"Are you sure?" asked a woman. She turned to her husband. "Henry, he was in a wheelchair."

Henry, a very large burly man kneeled down beside Al, "Need any help?" Al was trying to get to the curb.

Meanwhile Sam was behind a car throwing up, another man at his side asking, "Should I call an ambulance?" Sam finished retching and shook his head.

"No, it's okay." Sam coughed a bit. "We'll be fine." He looked around and saw Al somewhat sitting on the curb in front of the bar. Sam went to him. "Al, are you okay?"

"Yeah, just a little dazed is all." He answered. Henry and the other man came back with what's left of Al's chair. If it could still be called a chair. "Great." Al said sarcastically. "Now what am I gonna do?"

"I guess we'll have to wait until Donna comes to pick us up."

"You fellas gonna be alright?" Asked Henry. His wife chimed in, "We'd be more than willing to take you home or something."

"Thank you, but no. We're waiting for our ride." Al responded. The couple and the man nodded and went back inside the bar. "I should have seen it coming. For sure, it had to be him. Who else would want to try to kill us?"

"One of your ex-wives?" Sam asked.

"That's not funny." Al looked at the broken heap of metal in front of him, wondering how he was going to get around without it. He cursed his limitations for the umpteenth time. "And now that I've seen him, he's gonna want to kill me too."

"I think he just tried to do that." Sam slurred.

Al rolled his eyes. "No Shinola."

Donna came a few minutes later, parking the car next to the curb close to where Al and Sam were. She got out of the car and looked at Al and then at the very destroyed wheelchair in front of him and then to Sam. "What happened here?"

Al looked at Sam. "G'head. Tell her."

Looking down and stumbling for the right words, Sam said, "Well, um...you see... we kinda almost...,"

"...Got ran over." Al added casually.

"Yeah," Sam hesitated, "What he said."

With a hand on her hip, Donna asked, "What? What do you mean you almost got ran over? What were you doing in the middle of the street in the first place?" Then she noticed Sam's slurred speech, concluding that he was drunk. "Well, in your shape I'm surprised you didn't run into the cars on purpose. Sam Beckett, I'm ashamed of you. And you," she pointed to Al, "You're no help either! Is this how you both planned to spend your evening? Getting drunk?"

"Do I look drunk to you?" Al asked Donna. "It was his idea. Not mine. And I tried to keep him from going into the street. Can we please talk about this in the car?"

"What happened to your chair?" Donna asked.

"I'll tell you in the car. Um, Sam?"

Sam turned to Al. "Hmm?"

Looking up at the six foot tall figure standing above him and straining his neck, Al said, "I think I'm gonna need a little help here."

After getting the mutilated wheelchair into the trunk and Al into the back seat, Al and Sam retold the evening's events to Donna while she drove. Al was doing most of the talking. Sam was about ready to fall asleep.

"Are you saying," Donna started, trying to understand what happened, "you saw Yen in the bar and then Sam goes out, you chase him, and you almost get killed again?"

"We both almost got killed this time."

Donna sighed. She couldn't believe that a man would have a big enough ego to gloat and then try to reach his goal again. "I don't believe it."

"Neither do I."

Briefly taking a look in the rear view mirror to get a glimpse at the shaken Admiral Calavicci, Donna sighed again. "Do you have any idea how you're going to get around?"

Al shook his head. "No. I'll probably have to get a new chair. Heard about this thing called a Quickie from some people at rehab. Dumbest name I ever heard but it's supposed to be a great chair. I'm sure the infirmary should have a spare around I could use until I get a new one."

"So, Sam," Donna began. Sam jumped a little at the tone of her voice. "Which couch would you like to sleep on tonight? Because you're certainly not sleeping with me."

Sam sighed heavily and said nothing. No one said anything to each other for the rest of the ride home. It was known to them that the committee would be visiting the next day for the proof that time travel is now possible to humanity. All three hoped nothing wrong would happen on that big day.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

In the morning everyone awoke with a kind of dread in their stomach. All the senior staff awaited the moment the committee would arrive and expect criticism on everything they saw was wrong. Staff hated that. But today was a little different compared to all the passed times the committee visited. This time, senior staff had everything ready. A program of Al's creation to prove time travel was planned to be used.

Using a drop of blood from anyone and using the DNA to connect to the imaging chamber, the person of that DNA strand would be able to view all

the Leap Logs Ziggy has kept in her files. Breakfast was being made in the Beckett apartment and the aroma of scrambled eggs, hash browns, sausage, bacon, and coffee even woke Al up all the way from across the hall. With bacon and sausage still frying in the pan, Donna busied herself with feeding little Johnny his breakfast of strained carrots. She'd finally gotten him to swallow some of the baby food with most of it ending up on his bib when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in, Al." Donna said, concentrating on feeding her child. Sure enough, it was Al. He opened the door and rolled into the kitchen. "How'd you know it was me?"

Still not looking at Al, Donna smirked. "Who else would come knocking at my door in the middle of cooking?"

Al smiled. "Yeah, you caught me." He grinned at his godson and rolled over to him. "Hey, Johnny." The baby smiled a two-teeth smile. His mother was frustrated.

"Come on, Johnny." Prodded Donna, trying to get the baby to eat his food. She held the tiny spoon at John's little lips but he did not accept it into his mouth. She gave up and put the spoon dripping with strained carrots on the high-chair's tray table.

"Here, let me try." Al offered, taking the spoon, scooping up some food, and imitating an airplane. "Here comes the airplane." He said to Johnny. The baby laughed and gladly accepted the spoonful of carrots.

"How did you do that?"

Al shrugged, "Don't know. But it worked." Just as he got the words out, Johnny spat out his food onto Al's neon orange and green shirt. Donna couldn't help but laugh.

"Don't worry," She giggled, "no one'll notice on that shirt!"

She continued to giggled, retrieving a moistened paper towel for Al. Johnny giggled as well.

Awakened by the commotion, Sam staggered into the kitchen wearing a robe tied loosely about his waist. He slowly made his way to the coffee maker, blurting out a shallow "'Morning" while he poured himself some coffee.

Gently, reminded of the hangover Sam must have had from the night before, Al said, "Good morning, Sam."

Quickly covering his ears, Sam said, "Stop shouting!"

"Geez, Sam. No more brewskies for you." Commented Al. He shook his head, grinning to himself. Donna continued attempting to feed their little pride and joy while Sam sat down at the table, sipping his coffee and slouching.

"So," Al began, trying to make casual conversation, "How did we all sleep last night?"

In answer, Sam only rubbed at the back of his neck, indicated that their couch must have been the worst sleeping area in the Beckett dwelling. Donna grunted a little and said nothing as well.

Al folded his hands neatly in his lap, "I guess that answers my question." Mere moments passed by without a sound. Then Al piped up again, "So . . . how 'bout those Dodgers, huh?" Still silence between them. "Nice day outside. Don't you think?" Not a word from either of them. "Okay, I get it. I just hope you haven't forgotten about the committee coming today."

Donna nearly shouted, "What committee?"

Sam winced and said softly, "Would you whisper, please?"

"Oh, Sam! You haven't forgotten, have you? Did you finish your report?"

A frustrated sigh came from the physicist, "Ah, damn it." Al asked, "Did you even start it?"

Sam looked at the clock. "Um . . . how long until they get here?"

"I knew it!" Announced Donna.

"Yeah, I thought so." Al said, "That's why Uncle Al came to the rescue. Again. I stayed up the rest of last night finishing what you started."

"Thanks, Al." Sam said, "Now that'll give me just enough time to wash my teeth and brush my face. Could somebody help me to the bathroom?" he said to the woman nursing and the man in the wheelchair.

Donna was still perturbed at him. "Fat chance."

"So, Dr. Beckett," began Weitzman, "How is this contraption going to work?" He paused a minute, "Uh, should we all be wearing sunglasses indoors?"

Sam quickly took off the Raybans and stuffed them into his lab coat pocket, still squinting at the mild florescent light that illuminated the Control Room along with Ziggy's ever flashing control console. Al, sitting in his chair next to Sam, chuckled under his breath.

"Want another aspirin?" Al asked Sam, trying hard to hold back the laughter.

"No, uh," he rubbed at his temples, "No, I'm fine." The other committee members, including Weitzman, stared at the duo. One of the greatest scientific discoveries of the last hundred years was being presented by a man with a hangover and a man in a wheelchair. Breaking the uncomfortable silence, Al grabbed a stack of stapled packets and handed them to each one of the members. "Ladies and gentlemen. What we're presenting is one of the most unique discoveries of mankind. The ability to travel in time. In the packet I have just given you, you will find a brief summery of what we're here to prove to you today, and what Quantum Leap is all about."

All of a sudden, the door slid open and Gooshie rushed in along with Dr. Beeks, The Project Psychiatrist, and Dr. Bryce, the chief of medicine. "Sorry we're late, Dr. Beckett." Gooshie said. They all lined up in front of the console next to Sam and Al. Sam presented his team. "Ladies and gentlemen, our top senior staff. Dr. Gooshie Crosnolf, head programmer. Dr. Verbena Beeks, project psychiatrist. And Dr. Christopher Bryce, chief of medicine. Shall we begin?"

Using a drop of blood from each of the members of the committee, the DNA was processed into Ziggy's data bank. Linking their DNA with their brainwave patterns in the Imaging Chamber, everyone on the committee was able to view three dimensional Leap logs, or recorded visitations to the

Imaging Chamber during a Leap. For three hours, the committee stared at their holographic environment, saw Dr. Beckett in those environments as if he were really there. Phase three will involve traveling into the future and by the look on the committee's faces, Al and Sam could tell that their chances for the grant were looking very good. After the presentation, the committee was extremely impressed. As the committee prepared to leave, Weitzman approached Sam and Al with an approving grin and shook Sam's hand enthusiastically.

"Well done, Dr. Beckett! I had my doubts at first but now I congratulate you! We'll give you the grant for this project. Quantum Leap will go into phase three ASAP!"

Sam smiled. "Thank you, sir! Thank you very, very much! We won't let you down!" And with that, Weitzman got into the car and left.

Al stared as the cars drove away. "Yeah, thanks."


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

Phase three immediately began a week after the committee's visit. Every technician in the complex had something to do. New chips and programs were being added to the system every hour. Things were being optimized and everyone was quite happy with their progress. And in the midst of it all, there was Al.

Al ignored his situation, though it was hard for him to do. He vented his anger by barking out orders to his staff. All of them seemed to be much more intimidated than they used to be. After all, Al was very different now. Since the accident, the shadows on his face seemed to have darkened, the wrinkles on his hands seemed more defined and no longer held the familiar father-like gentleness. All the features that used to gladden people as he passed disappeared and replaced everyone's hope into loss.

But Al tried not to think about much at all. Sam on the other hand could think of nothing else but Al. He would mask his despair with a phony smile whenever he saw the Admiral speed down the halls in his wheelchair. What Sam didn't know is that it discouraged Al rather than helped him. Al could see right through Sam and that talent was something nobody could figure out. Not even Sam.

It was late at night now and most had left for home to sleep, even though there was still much to be done. But fatigue was already catching up to Al and since he had been sitting in a wheelchair all day, his back was starting to bother him as well. So, he decided to close up for the night. Sam was walking down the office corridor, carrying a box full of circuitry and spare computer parts, when he saw Al turning off the lights to his office and closing the door.

"Giving up already?" Sam asked as he approached the Admiral. "Under regular circumstances, you'd usually stay up all night working on this stuff." He indicated to the box he carried.

Tired and in pain, Al rubbed his eyes and sighed heavily. "Well, this isn't a normal situation, now, is it, Beckett? I'm tired, I hurt, and if you don't mind, I'd like to go to bed."

Feelings crunched by Al's harsh tone, Sam pried, "What's your problem?"

He rolled passed Sam. "Do you know what it feels like to be snubbed?"

Sam followed the older man. "Snubbed?" he asked, clearly confused. "What do you mean 'snubbed'"

"Snubbed. As in 'pushed to the side'? 'Used and forgotten'? Ring a bell?"

"I don't understand. What's making you feel 'snubbed'?"

Turning the corner with Sam following, Al continued, "In case you forgot already, I saved your ass more than once since you got home. Excluding the bullet I got in the back."

"Thank you?" Sam shrugged questioningly. Al huffed, gaining as much momentum as possible in his bulky hospital issued wheelchair. Sam didn't even try to catch up to him. He was just about ready to give up the friendship in itself. By the way they've been acting towards each other, it just didn't seem worth holding onto anymore.

**2:00 am**

It was really late now. Sam was still working in his office on chips, mostly programming, taking occasional five minute breaks for the bland coffee served in the compound. It tasted disgusting, but it kept you going on those long nights.

Sam could hardly look at another piece of circuitry without wanting to scream. Sure, he admitted he was a workaholic but enough was enough. The fact that he had a lot on his mind didn't help. He hasn't spent enough time with his family since he came home and especially since the shooting with the Banes lunatic.

He smiled in spite of himself at the sudden thought of his son. How he's grown in the few months that has passed. He sighed, rubbing his eyes and sat back comfortably in his chair, pushing away his work. He smiled again. Donna, he thought, she's still so beautiful. He nodded to himself. Life was good to him, he thought, completely forgetting about the situation. Forgetting about Al.

Still smiling, he stood, grabbed his empty coffee mug and headed for another round of Java just down the hall. Nonchalantly strolling down the corridor, he stopped dead in his tracks and frowned profusely. Something was wrong. He didn't know how, but he felt it with a sixth sense.

He started to jog down the hall, setting the mug somewhere on the floor. Then he began to sprint towards the end of the corridor, where the elevator was. He turned the corner and saw what proved his hunch to be correct. Al's wheelchair, but no Al. Al couldn't have just walked away from it if he's paralyzed. No, he was obviously kidnapped and Sam had an idea who kidnapped him.

"Ziggy!" He called in the midst of his desperation. "Damn it, Ziggy!"

Ziggy's sultry computerized voice sounded more metallic and shaky then usually. "Yeeeeesss, Docccctttterrrr Beeeecccckkkeeeettt?"

"Why the hell didn't you tell me about this?! Where's Al?"

"Tttttthhhhhheeeee aaaaadddddmmmiiiirrrraaaalll," her voice suddenly winding down, "is in the E-wing with ..." All throughout the complex you could hear the hum of power slowly being drained and blacking out the entire complex.

"Damn! Damn the virus! Damn that idiot Banes! Ziggy!" He wandered aimlessly through the halls in the pitch darkness. He had to get to Al. And his wife and son. The stress of it all was almost unbearable. A few minutes passed when the backup generator kicked in. Red emergency lights lit up the halls. He could hear what sounded like a stampede coming from the staircases. He ran for the stairway door and opened it. Dozens and dozens of scientists and technicians were running up the stairs to ground level. The elevators didn't work with the generator running on it's own, and neither did the air vents. The generator would only last long enough for everyone to evacuate if normal power could not be regained.

But Sam had to find Al. E-wing was on the 10th level of the complex so Sam attempted to weave through the immense crowd of people going in the opposite direction of traffic. Pushing and shoving, he almost didn't realize pushing Chris Bryce right down the stairs.

"Sam, what the hell are you thinking?!" Chris said, regaining his balance. The last of the technicians were making their way up the stairs as Chris continued, "Are you trying to kill me or what?"

"No, no, I just have to get to Al. He's on the tenth level and Yen probably took him hostage. ..."

"Whoa, slow down! Are you saying the Hiroshi character you've been telling us about kidnapped Al?"

"Yes!" Sam replied quickly, "but I don't have time to explain. Just tell my wife that I'll be up there as soon as possible!"

Leaving Chris with a blank look on his face, he darted down the stairs as fast as he could.

He burst through the door of level ten. The halls were bathed in a dark red light and the alarms were deafening. All the corridors looked the same. He looked to the left. Then to the right. E-wing was down to the right so he began to sprint that way. As he ran, the walls changed from completed to covered with plastic tarps. He abruptly came to a halt when he saw . . . Al's wheelchair again? A red jacket that Al had been wearing earlier was thrown carelessly on the seat of the chair that was parked next to an opened access corridor the size of an air shaft. He didn't give himself time to think.

The confused physicist called out, "Al? Al, where are you?"

"Sam?" Al's voice seemed to be coming from the corridor in the construction area. Sam, even more confused, followed the voice. Grabbing a flashlight that he always kept in his belt, he got down onto his hands and knees and shined the flashlight to see inside access corridor.

Sam saw the admiral face down in the crawl space. "Al, what the hell are you doing in there? Didn't you hear the alarms going off?"

Al, turning himself onto his side, quickly snapped back at him, "Of course I did, Beckett. I'm paralyzed, not deaf."

With a pudge grin Sam asked, "Then why are you still in there? Are you stuck?"

"No," Al said sarcastically, "I'm trying to tunnel my way to freedom. What does it look like to you?" Sam flashed the light towards the obvious problem and grimaced at the sight of Al's legs resembling something close to a pretzel. Al had obviously been trying to free himself forcefully without knowing what caused his problem.

"Al. Do me a favor and don't move."

"Why? What's the problem?" Al asked suspiciously.

"Trust me. You don't want to know."

"Okay, I'll take your word for it. Now, why did the power go out?" Ignoring the older man's question, Sam dislodged Al's foot and muttered, "Come on, let's get you out of here."

"Whatever it is I don't need your help." Right as Al spoke the last word, he felt a hard tug and suddenly found himself outside the crawl space and on the floor in the main hallway. He positioned himself upright.

Sam asked, "Are you okay?"

"I will be as soon as . . ." his voice trailed and he turned sheet white as looked across the way. Sam turned to see what Al was looking at. A small console embedded in the wall was displaying on its screen the chilling letters R.I.P. Below that was a counter at five minutes and counting down. "Sam, I have a feeling something bad's gonna happen once that counter reaches zero."

"Let me get your chair. . ."

"Screw the chair! Get our asses the hell out of here!!!" Sam quickly lifted Al over his shoulders and started running up the stairs. Al could do nothing but shut his eyes and dread the entire situation. This is what he hated most about his limitations.

The alarms were ear numbing and the dim red lights were enough to make you dizzy. He briefly opened his eyes and saw "Sublevel 2" painted in black bold letters on the wall. Suddenly there came a rumble from deep down below them.

Sam ran as fast as he could with Al on his shoulders. He came to the ground level, running down the last hallway. He saw the exit right in front of him as the Earth shook with more intensity. He ran outside, as far as he could possibly go until the entire complex of PQL, his dream was completely engulfed by the explosion.


	10. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

What was left of the project was in flames, and all the staff who had evacuated could only stand and watch as everything they worked so hard for went up in smoke. The explosion had knocked out all ten sublevels and the two floors of apartments above ground were unsalvageable due to the fire.

Some people were crying, some cursing, others just stared at the catastrophe in horror. It could not be helped. PQL was no more.

Sam set Al down near where the medical staff were. Al, having his pride to regain and not really wanting to say thank you, quickly waved Sam off and told him to go find his wife.

The physicist was uncertain but left Al and began to run though the crowd, pushing and shoving. He desperately called out his beloved's name. Over and over again, "Donna!" until he heard a faint reply from within the crowd.

"Sam!" Shouted Donna, their bawling child in her arms, "I'm over here, Sam!" Sam ran to her as fast as he could and embraced her with all his heart. Johnny stopped crying right when his father came near, a comforting thought for Sam.

"Thank God you're alright!" He looked into her eyes, relieved that both she and his son were still alive. "I love you so much. Both of you." Kissing her with all the passion in the world, he didn't think he could feel more relief than knowing that his family was unharmed and his best friend still alive . . . . to bitch at him.

He pulled away sadly.

"Sam, what is it?" Donna asked. Sam looked around.

"It's gone." He said, "It's all gone."

His wife put her free hand on his face and looked into his eyes. "But it's _not_ all gone."

"What do you mean by that?" Asked Sam with a furrowed brow.

"Look around, Sam. All these people. All the minds that helped you put together this dream. They're the life of the entire project. Without them, your dream wouldn't have come true. You and Al made it happen with the help from hundreds of dedicated staff. Do you see them running away from this?" She indicated the building on fire.

Sam nodded. He had to agree. PQL was more than just a bunch concrete walls and circuitry. It was Sam, Al, all the technicians, and the physicists and programmers. That's what counted in the first place. "So, where do we go from here?" He asked.

"Well," she sighed, "It's going to be hard. But you've done it before."

"We'll have to start from scratch." Sam sighed and looked once again toward the flames in despair. It will be a long hard fight. But it will happen. And Project Quantum Leap will be even better than before.


End file.
